


It Happened Once Upon a Library

by TryingforTrueGrit



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, General, Humor, Mild Language, Royalty AU, WIP, friendship to romance, non-magic au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2018-10-30 10:37:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 38,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10875030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TryingforTrueGrit/pseuds/TryingforTrueGrit
Summary: Emma is a single-mom focused on completing her last year of college.  Killian is the reluctant heir to the throne of Denmark focused on completing his studies anonymously.  An unexpected encounter in the campus library leads to a friendship and possibly something more.  If only Emma overcomes her fears and Killian comes clean about his identity.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very excited and yet nervous to post my first multi chapter story. It is a WIP but the story is outlined from beginning to end. Updates not specifically scheduled. Loosely based off a particular movie which you can probably guess the one. I've taken several liberties with the name/location of the college and other royal facts I couldn't find on google. 
> 
> Let me know what you think and thanks for checking out my story!

(September)

The rain is pouring heavily, pelting down sideways due to the steady gusts of wind. Emma clenches her teeth and tightens her hold on the umbrella as she continues the seemingly never ending trudge to the library. The heavy downpour is making it difficult to see and though she attempts to walk in a straight line the wind is winning, causing her to walk diagonally.

Why did she pick a commuter college to attend? Why couldn’t she have chosen an older, more respected university that didn’t cause students to trek miles from the parking lots to the campus buildings? Seriously, she should have chosen to relocate and attend Boston College or Boston University, why she decided to stay and attend the satellite school Boston College at Storybrooke Emma can’t seem to recall at the moment.

Another harsh gust of wind tugs at her umbrella, the force of which causes the umbrella to invert on itself.

Great. Just fucking great. She attempts to untangle and fix the umbrella but the effort proves futile. Already soaked because the damn umbrella was a piece of crap to begin with, Emma chucks the umbrella in the nearest garbage bin before making a desperate sprint the final four hundred meters to the library.

Up the library’s thirty steps - (thirty steps with no accessible ramp, a library is supposed to be a place to study in peace, not a place to get an unwanted workout) - Emma finally makes it past the revolving doors and into the warmth of the library’s atrium.

Literally soaked from head to toe, Emma shrugs out of her favorite red leather jacket that is beyond water stained at the moment and begins to peel off the woven blue sweater that was once soft to the touch but is now suffocating her body to the point where she can feel sweat beneath her underarms. Once she’s out of the sweater, she uses it to dab at her underarms hoping the warmth of the library will both cool her off and keep her warm as she studies in her white tank top. There is not much she can do about the denim of her jeans that cling to her legs like shrunken leather, or her book bag that is dripping wet which can only mean her overpriced textbooks are severely water damaged. God only knows the condition of her laptop. She hopes the protective casing did its job since the crappy umbrella failed. Finally her hair, although she had styled her blonde curls into a cute ponytail that morning, the humidity and gusty winds have caused her hair to poof up in various directions, including her already difficult baby hairs.

Yeah, Emma is a hot mess at the moment.

At least she made it to the library with ample time before her eight o’clock class. The campus may have been horribly designed – all concrete and brick, rectangular shaped, little to no windows in the older buildings that were miles from the various student parking lots (blame the student riots of the 1960’s) – but at least the library is open twenty-four hours. Which means that Emma has plenty of time to nab her usual cup of cheap coffee from the cafeteria downstairs before proceeding to her usual study spot in the dusty old library.

After shaking off some of the water from her clothing and hair - (if anyone was watching she would fervently deny she was mimicking a wet dog) - Emma races downstairs to grab her coffee. She desperately wants a hot cocoa with cinnamon given the inclement and chilly weather, but the university’s Starbucks will not be open for another hour so she has to settle for the cafeteria’s complimentary brewed batch of putrid oil - (seriously, all this tuition money and the university can’t afford a better brand of coffee than Maxwell House?). Sighing in defeat, she adds a generous supply of creamer to her cup and makes her way back upstairs.

The library is ancient and therefore always under construction in an effort to update it with new technology and modern conveniences. Three years Emma has been attending the university and still there is no end in site for the new and modern improvements. Thus, finding a quiet place to study away from the construction and noise had proven difficult at first. It wasn’t until her sophomore year did Emma find her perfect study corner, away from the construction and noisy students who consider chatting animatedly while browsing Facebook to be a form of studying.

Her study corner is the perfect little alcove in the overly busy library. Located on the third floor, it has a window that faces west with a view overlooking some of the nicer college grounds. The view has always served as a reinforcing agent for Emma to focus and finish her studies. From the winter canvas that promises fun times in the snow for her and Henry, to the summer sky that promises times of relaxing by the pool.

Best of all, her little study alcove is a hidden gem, tucked away from the busier sections of the library and hidden by ancient texts no student would ever venture out to read – tax law circa the 1950’s. Her secluded spot offers a lone rectangular table with two chairs - (one for her, one for her feet to rest) - and no power outlet. As she carries a portable charger with her wherever she goes, the lack of an available power outlet is just an added bonus for Emma as it prevents students who always need to be plugged in away from her study corner. It’s essentially a hidden treasure perfectly designed for the non-traditional student like herself.

It’s the beginning of the fall semester of Emma’s senior year, and not once since finding the gem has she ever been disturbed or approached by another living soul in her secluded, and by all intense and purposes, _private_ study alcove.

That is until now.

Emma rounds the corner of the 1950’s tax law section and stops in her tracks.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Emma bristles without filter to the back of the stranger’s head.

The dark haired stranger turns around in the chair, startled blue eyes meeting glaring sea green. Perturbed at the sudden intrusion, the stranger begins to assess Emma with a look of confusion, if his raised brow and tilted chin are anything to go on.

“Pardon?”

Is it her imagination or did she hear a faint lilt to his voice? Shrugging off the thought Emma continues, “You’re occupying _my_ study spot.”

“ _Your_ study spot? Forgive me lass, but I don’t see a nameplate or a flag indicating this table is yours. And just who are you anyway?”

Yep, definitely a lilting British accent.

“Never mind who I am. Who are you? This has been my study spot for the past three years and I’m not about to give it up so you’d better gather up your things and leave.” Emma feels herself begin to seethe. At a quarter to seven, shivering in her tank top and boots because of the downpour outside, it is just to early in the morning for this shit.

“Killian Jones, and you are?” He shifts in the chair and rises to his feet, a soft grin plastered across his face. He takes a step toward Emma with his hand outstretched in an attempt to shake her hand in a proper introduction.

Emma gives him the once over as he stands - dark brown hair, bearded scruff, deep blue eyes, and the tracings of a faint scar on his right cheek. He’s dressed head to toe in black jeans, dark shirt, and black leather jacket. Paired with that accent, he can only be trouble.

Instead of shaking his hand, Emma shakes her head in admonishment. “Yeah I’m not telling you my name. This is my study spot. I have an hour before my first class, I’m soaking wet, my umbrella fell apart on me, I need to finish reading a mind numbingly boring chapter, and I haven’t even sipped this godforsaken excuse for a coffee.” With her left hand Emma makes a sweeping motion over her soaked attire for emphasis and slightly shakes her right hand that is holding the cup of coffee. “Killian was it? Please make this morning easier by leaving.”

Killian only stares at her, his eyebrows ticked up in amused wonderment before he drops his outstretched hand and tilts his head down in a soft laugh.

“Is my predicament funny to you?” Emma asks, vexed with his obvious amusement at her expense.

Killian’s deep blue eyes twinkle with mirth but his tone is soft and kind. “Not at all lass. Forgive me; I did not realize this spot had been claimed. I shall make my leave.” He gives a small bow with his head and turns to gather his belongings, which Emma can see includes a coffee thermos from her favorite independent venue – Granny’s Grinds.

When he turns back around to face her, he offers her a sweetly shy yet somewhat flirty smile. “My apologies for having offended you on this already glum morning. I do hope your day will improve.” At that, Killian walks around Emma and makes his leave from the hidden alcove.

She stands there for a moment dumbstruck, not knowing what to think. She knows she had acted bitchy, but she hadn’t expected polite manners in the form of a handsome Englishman in return for her bitchiness. Aggravated at the start to her day, she lets out an annoyed sigh and shakes the moment off. She is here to catch up on studying, not to think about the deplorable morning she is having or the unexpected handsome stranger she just encountered.

 

\--

 

Click. Click. Double Click.

Killian can’t focus. He fidgets in his seat for the umpteenth time and continues to obliviously tap away at the ballpoint pen’s head. His mind keeps wondering back to the fight he’d had with his father the previous evening and truthfully, this morning’s encounter with a green eyed, fiery blonde lass.

He hadn’t realized when he stumbled upon the little alcove on the library’s third floor that anybody would soon be occupying it, especially considering the early morning hour. His intention had been to spend the hour catching up on his studies before his first class, yet those plans were derailed thanks to a tenacious blonde beauty in a white tank top.

Click. Double Click. Click. Click.

“Oi, mate? Will you stop with that incessant pen? I know the lecture is rather dry this morning, but come off it. You are usually studiously taking notes no matter how boring the lecture is, so be a chum and tell me what it is that has got you so distracted.”

Killian turns in the squeaky and narrow lecture hall chair to face his royal advisor, bodyguard, and all around best mate, Robin. The sandy haired man is giving him a questionable look, patiently waiting for an answer.

“Sorry mate, I’ll give it a rest.” He shrugs his shoulders and straightens in his chair, turning his attention back to the lecture on aerial tactics of the U.S. during World War II.

Robin rolls his eyes. Killian may technically be his employer, heir to their country, and incidentally his best mate, but he will not allow the young prince to get off so easily. Between the two of them, Robin is the one to fall asleep during eight o’clock lectures - (he isn’t the one in school) - while Killian pays rapt attention. The prince is double majoring in military history and political science despite already having acquired a bachelor’s degree in economics. Although the subjects are not the prince’s personal choice, Killian has never shown any disillusionment or appeared distracted from his studies before, so naturally Robin’s curiosity is piqued.

“I know you and I know something is obviously distracting you. Since you won’t tell me now, I’ll settle for you telling me over a pint at the Rabbit Hole tonight.”

Killian lets out an exasperated breath, giving up any continued pretense of focusing on the morning’s lecture. Sometimes he wishes his friend, trusted advisor or not, didn’t know him so well. Yes, he is clearly distracted. Distracted by his father’s overbearing presence in his life. Distracted by having his future decided for him. However, the one distraction he doesn’t mind having at the moment is the assertive blonde spitfire and the encounter they shared this morning.

“Alright, but only one drink.”

Robin laughs and slaps Killian on the back, “Excellent. Did I mention your buying?”

-/-

The Rabbit Hole is crowded with it being a Friday night. The air smells a mix of alcohol, sweat, and smoke. Emma is perched on a red velvet upholstered bar stool, sipping her bourbon on the rocks, and waiting for her friend Ruby to finish up flirting and sucking face with her boyfriend, Victor.

“Sorry I’m late. Rounds took longer than usual tonight.” Emma happily turns in her seat to greet her friend Elsa. “Bourbon huh? Rough day, I take it?” Elsa asks with a knowing look.

Emma pounds the rest of her drink before signaling the bartender for another. “You have no idea,” she says tiredly.

Her day became progressively worse since the morning. Between classes, exams, work and Neal, it was just too much. All she wants is to be home, to be able to read a bedtime story to her son, Henry and then crawl into the comforts of her own bed.

“Well, I’m here now so I want to hear all about it.” Elsa turns in her stool to order a chardonnay just as Emma receives her second round.

“I’d rather just forget about it. What about you, hard day at work?” Emma asks in an attempt to deflect attention away from herself.

“Okay you have my attention now that Elsa has arrived. And no Emma, you are not getting out of this one.” Ruby returns her attention to her friends while her boyfriend departs the bar with a beer in hand. “You’ve been sullen since the start of the semester, but today you’ve been particularly broody. What gives?”

Emma shakes her head and takes another sip of her bourbon before plunging ahead and telling her two best friends the events of her day. She may not have Henry to come home to tonight since it’s Neal’s weekend with him, but at least she will have the comforts of her bed once the night is over.

Across the bar, out of sight from Emma and her friends, a game of pool is well underway.

“And you didn’t get her name?” Robin sets his beer mug down and proceeds to chalk up his pool cue.

Killian winces at his friend’s question, more of out disappointment in himself than annoyance at the question. “Aye. The lass didn’t give me but a moment to leave her presence. She was rather vexed at my apparent intrusion.” Killian stands hunched and leaning over the pool cue with his hands crossed, his gaze directed on the game.

“Have you ever seen her around campus?” Robin asks just as he sinks his shot.

Killian takes a swig from his beer bottle. “I don’t think I would have forgotten a woman like her, even if she hadn’t been yelling at me. But no, I’ve never seen her around campus, or in any of my classes for that matter.” He lines up another shot and misses, accidently sinking a striped ball instead of a solid into a center pocket. His game is off tonight, but he doesn’t really care.

Robin makes his way up to the pool table to take his turn. “Well it is a large campus. Perhaps keep an eye out for her, yeah?” He readies his shot and takes aim, the eight ball entering a corner pocket. “And that’s game. What do you say to another round? I’ll get the drinks this time,” Robin asks with a grin and a little bounce of his feet, the look he gives Killian nothing short of pleading.

Killian doesn’t really want another round, but he knows it would be good for him. He’s had a stressful start to the semester, a difficult evening the prior night, and a very weird morning. He is notorious for overworking himself, but if he is going to meet the expectations placed upon him, he doesn’t have much choice. Still, he is having an off night and it is doubtful he would be able to focus if he made an attempt at studying.

“Fine, but only because I’m the lone idiot on this planet to fall for that puppy dog look of yours.”

“You know you love it,” Robin teases as he follows the prince to the bar.

The bar is packed tight with bodies of people, but Killian and Robin manage to snag their way into a small opening a few heads down from a group of women chatting animatedly.

“Oh Emma, you probably frightened that poor man into thinking you are ‘bat shit crazy’ as Ruby calls it. Who goes off on someone like that?” Elsa chides Emma as she takes a sip from her second glass of chardonnay.

Ruby snorts, “Sounds like classic Emma to me.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Emma doesn’t even bother to mask her incredulous tone. This was supposed to be a fun night with her friends, a night to forget about her troubles and decompress, but certainly not a night to get lectured by said friends.

Ruby sets down her vodka cranberry and rolls her eyes. “You know exactly what it means. Emma, you are beyond prickly. Apart from us, you keep to yourself. When you’re not taking care of Henry you’re either in class, studying, or working. You have no social life. You haven’t been on a date in what, two years since Walsh?”

Emma interrupts her then, “Excuse me what does my dating or social life have to do with this?”

Why would they bring up Walsh of all people? He had been the first guy Emma chose to trust since Neal and he’d turned out to be a complete fraud and broken her heart. Since then, she had closed herself off entirely and has been careful not to set herself up for another heartache, or worse, heartache for Henry should he ever get close to someone who will just end up leaving.

Ruby lets out an exasperated breath and motions with a raised brow and tilt of her chin for Elsa to take over in their little lecture – good natured speech.

“What Ruby is trying to say,” Elsa continues, “is that you don’t take kindly to change.”

Emma attempts to rebuttal but is effectively cut off by Elsa holding up her hand in a placating gesture. “Ah, let me finish. Emma, you’ve built up so many walls that it is impossible to accept new people, to accept change. So when you are forced to deal with change, you run from it instead of adapting to it. The only exception is Henry.”

Emma is now openly scowling at her two friends. She is either going to need a third bourbon to finish this conversation, or she is going to have to leave for the comfort of her bed and Ben and Jerry’s. The latter is sounding more and more appealing.

“Elsa has a point, Emma. I mean don’t get me wrong, I would be crotchety too if I was soaking wet and hadn’t had my coffee yet. But would it have been so bad to have gone and looked for another study table? I’ve never been but it’s a library, surely there are loads of other tables available?” At that last statement Ruby shrugs her shoulders and looks to Elsa for confirmation.

Elsa simply rolls her eyes in response.

Emma stands from the barstool and takes a step back with her hands thrown up in defense. “Alright, I’ve had it. Crotchety? Really?”

As Emma grabs her jacket and makes to turn around and leave, she bumps into something hard and solid. The next sound she hears is breaking glass, and the next thing she feels is cold liquid seeping down her blouse.

“Really?”

“Bloody hell!”

Emma looks up then. What are the odds of hearing a British accent twice in one day?

“You!” Emma spits out in annoyance.

“Oh!” Killian stutters. It would be his luck to run into the mystery blonde again only to make an ass of himself and spill beer all over her.

“Yeah I’m so done with today.” Emma turns sharply on her heel and leaves, not giving him or her friends another glance.

“Oh no! No, wait. Please!” Killian makes to go after her, but Emma is quicker. By the time he exits the bar to the parking lot, he’s lost her.

Killian kicks at the loose gravel under his feet and silently lets out a string of curses. Resigning himself to the day’s end, he strides to his vehicle in defeat. He is about to text Robin to come meet him but Robin, ever the vigilant security detail, is already exiting the bar and making his way over.

All Killian wants to do is crawl into bed and forget about the day’s events, the spirited blonde, and to use his father’s words from the previous evening, everything else he is “screwing up.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all the likes and reviews! Yes, this story is loosely based off the movie The Prince and Me but with obvious changes. One of which is the presence of Neal and Henry. Fair warning this chapter is not kind to Neal, so if you love his character you may not like the first bit of the chapter. I’m still debating which way I want to go with his character, and I hope my final decision will be what blends best with this story, but that’s still several chapters away though. Thanks again for reading and please let me know what you think!

(September)

Monday comes quicker than Emma would have liked. Between the events of Friday and Sunday, the weekend truly was not long enough. Her only bright spot to the weekend being over is that she has Henry back from Neal.

The arrangement she made with Neal when Henry was four and Neal had decided he wanted to be a dad was simple: he would be allowed to have Henry for one weekend during the third week of every month except for holidays. He would be responsible for picking Henry up from school on Friday afternoon and returning Henry to Emma’s apartment Sunday afternoon.

The arrangement wasn’t Emma’s first choice. In truth, if she had it her way, Neal would not be in Henry’s life at all. But when Neal popped back into her life two years ago, requesting to be a part of Henry’s life now that his own life was ‘in order,’ Emma had conceded to their present custody agreement, if only for the sake of Henry getting the chance to know his father. The arrangement was the most Emma was comfortable with, no matter how much Neal’s presence was a constant reminder that she would never be somebody’s first choice; that Henry hadn’t been his father’s first choice.

Yet their agreement didn’t stop Neal from requesting for further custody every so often when he came to drop Henry off at her apartment, as he had that Sunday. Neal stood, leaning in the threshold of Emma’s front door - (no way in hell was he ever allowed in her apartment) - his hands in his pockets and wearing a mocking grin, “Come on Emma, why can’t you let up on this once a month deal?”

Emma steeled her eyes upon the man she thought she once loved, when she was a lonely and besotted teenager eager for the loving affections of a man. As she was expecting him to inquire about further custody, she tightened her lips and arched her brow in what she hoped was a no-nonsense expression. “Absolutely not. You know the deal. That’s as much of a concession as you will get from me.”

She moved to close the door on him but Neal stepped with his left foot, effectively preventing the door from fully closing.

“Emma, please? Tamara really wants to get to know more of Henry and besides, I’m his father, I have a legal right to him.” Neal was now openly trying to push the door open but he didn’t have to give much effort, as Emma yanked the door open wide in that moment.

“Excuse me? Legal right? Of course you have a legal right to your _son_. You also had a legal right to your son when I was still pregnant, but you bailed on him then and only came crawling out of the wood work when it became convenient for you.” Emma reined in her temper, trying to keep her voice down so Henry wouldn’t overhear their argument from his bedroom. Taking a deep breath, she continued, “Look, you leaving me back then is not the issue.” Neal’s brow rose in disbelief but Emma refused to go down that road with him. “The issue is you might not be there for Henry in the future. You may be asking for more custody now but that may change in the future, especially if your fiancée decides your wedlock kid isn’t worthy of being part of your family. I’m not taking that risk.”

Neal shook his head and made a clicking sound with his tongue. He held up his hands in defense and took a step back. “Alright, I can see there’s no getting through to you tonight. Whatever. I’ll see him in three weeks.” He turned on his heel and made his exit down the hallway. Emma cast her eyes to the ceiling and shut the door in exhaustion.

Yeah, so much for a restful weekend.

Shaking off the annoying memory, Emma grips Henry’s hand tighter as they make their morning trek from the student parking lot to the university’s childcare center. The campus may be designed as a commuter university but God bless the dean, president, alumnus, or donor who thought to create a childcare center for students to use as a form of support so they can continue with their education. The Red Apple Childhood Learning Center offers flexible hours, which Emma takes full advantage of. She’s able to attend classes and go to work all while knowing Henry is being safely supervised and receiving his own quality education.

“Good morning Ms. Swan! Good morning Henry!” Belle, the angelic brunette and grammar teacher calls over to Emma and Henry once they enter the building.

“Good morning Ms. Belle!” Henry replies in his usual mode of functioning - all childhood innocence and happiness, with a pension for curiosity and learning. Sometimes Emma can’t believe her sweet young boy is actually her own flesh and blood.

“I think you’re going to like today’s story time, Henry. It’s about magic, mystery, heroes and villains. It even has pirates!” Belle takes Henry in her arms and begins swinging him about in a needless attempt to get him excited for the day. At the word ‘magic’ Henry had already been charmed.

“Alright little man, you be good for Ms. Belle and I’ll see you later today, okay?” Emma leans over to give Henry a kiss on the cheek and ruffles his hair. She un-slings Henry’s Avengers backpack from her shoulder and hands it to Belle. The grammar teacher gives Emma a nod and begins escorting Henry to the classrooms.

“Bye Mom!” Henry shouts enthusiastically over his shoulder. Emma waves and smiles after him until he is no longer in sight, before turning to make her exit and begin her own Monday morning.

-/-

Emma makes her way over to the library, the study alcove her routine destination before her eight o’clock class. She wants to use her time today to finish the final edits of a paper that is due later in the week. Why she is being forced to take The Early Plays of Shakespeare as an elective she can’t recall. Something about fulfilling a literature requirement she never got around to during her first two years of core requirements. It’s one thing to be a non-traditional senior sitting amongst freshman and sophomores. It is an entirely different matter when the freshman and sophomores are well versed in a subject that quite literally is a foreign language to her.

At least this morning she is warm and cozy in her sweater and jeans and not dripping with water from head to toe. It’s the small victories that count.

Just as she is about to enter her study alcove, Emma is surprised to be passing by a sandy haired man wearing a green army jacket. Even more surprising, the man appears to actually be reading a book from one of the ancient tax law shelves. Before she can ponder the newcomer’s appearance, she rounds the final corner and lets out an expletive under her breath.

The dark haired Englishman from Friday turns in his seat – Emma’s seat – and arches a brow at her. Instead of gazing upon her with a look of curiosity as he had during their first encounter, his bright blue eyes are colored with mischief and he’s grinning wildly. “Pardon?”

Apparently she hadn’t expressed the expletive quite so subtly under her breath as she thought. Gathering herself, Emma takes a step back, pauses, and then proceeds to walk over to him, her shoulders full of determination and her eyes laced with irritation. “Did I not make myself clear on Friday? This is my _spot_.”

“Clear as crystal darling, but I thought I should drop by and issue you an apology. Two to be exact.”

Emma can’t tare her gaze away from him. She assesses him for any hint of a lie but finds none. Despite his twinkling blue eyes, he appears to be telling the truth. Annoyed with herself for feeling both confused and curious about the man’s intentions, she is quite literally at a loss for words. Realizing she’s been staring – (unaware he’s been returning her penetrating gaze) - Emma blinks and takes a step back. What was this guy’s deal?

Recognizing Emma’s hesitance, Killian stands and continues, “Allow me to clarify. My first apology is for vexing you so on Friday morning. It was not my intention to intrude and cause you any annoyance.” Emma blinks and tilts her head, clearly ready to retort, but Killian offers up his hand in a placating gesture. “Please let me finish. My second apology is for spilling beer all over you on Friday evening. I hadn’t seen you when I bumped into you. Bloody ungentlemanly of me and a bloody waist of good beer.” Killian shifts his feet and scratches the back of his ear as if unsure of himself. “I’ve come to make it up to you today if you’ll allow it.”

He turns around and picks up a drink carrier that is sitting on the table. Emma inspects the two drinks sitting in the carrier and realizes they are coffee cups from Granny’s Grinds. She arches a brow at him, waiting for him to explain himself.

Killian clears his throat and once more scratches behind his ear with his free hand. Emma notices his smug grin is gone, replaced with an abashed smile. “You mentioned Friday of not caring for the muck from downstairs our fine institution considers coffee, so I’ve brought you some from Granny’s. Don’t know if you ever been, but Granny’s makes the best.” He holds the drink carrier a little further out in front of him. “So love, what’ll it be? Do you enjoy your coffee black as castor oil or spotted with milk? I’m afraid I didn’t bring any sugar packets because I must say, if you take your coffee with sugar than you might as well not be drinking coffee.”

A minute passes before Emma can fully process the exchange and come up with a response. The enticing aroma of the coffee is flooding her olfactory bulbs, tempting her, but should she take the offered coffee? It is a nice gesture, but a little too nice, no matter how handsome the Englishman is.

“What’s the price?” She asks, shifting her gaze from the coffee to him.

“Price? No need to pay me back, love.” Killian nods his head toward Emma, beckoning her to accept.

Emma shakes her head, “No, I mean what’s the price if I accept the coffee? You must want something in return. People aren’t ever generous unless they want something in return.”

Killian assesses her resolute demeanor. If Friday’s run-in was any indication, she is indeed a tough lass, but also guarded. He doesn’t know in what way, but he knows to tread carefully, respectably. He doesn’t want to offend her by any means. Quite the opposite; he does indeed want to get to know her, but he will not push himself on her or overstep his bounds. So he nods his head in gentle understanding and takes a small step forward. “That has been my experience as well, however I assure you the only price to be had is that you enjoy a delicious cup of coffee while studying. I assure you there is no ulterior motive here, but as the coffee is getting warm and it’d be a bloody waist for good coffee to go cold, you’re going to have to try and trust me, love.”

Emma squares her shoulders and exhales. He didn’t even know her name and she’d forgotten his, but it was her favorite brand of coffee, though he didn’t know that, and he was offering it to her for nothing, save trusting him. She hears the voices of Ruby and Elsa in her head, she pictures the snickering look of Neal, and she takes in the hopeful but nervous expression of the Englishman in front of her.

With her lie detector silent, her gut at ease instead of twisting in warning, she decides to take the risk. Extending her hand and offering up a small smile she asks, “May I have the one with milk, please?”

Killian’s face lights up in a bright smile, “Of course, love” and hands her the coffee with milk.

Emma takes a small sip and can’t help how her eyes close in pleasure. Damn if this isn’t exactly what she needed all morning. “Thank you, um…”

“Killian, will do.” A soft blush creeps across his cheeks and he hastily takes a sip of his own coffee to hide it.

Emma laughs lightly, glad that he hadn’t taken offense to her forgetting his name from their first encounter, “Right, Killian.” She takes another sip of the enticing coffee, swallows, and decides to take another leap. “Emma. My name is Emma Swan.”

Killian smiles and bows his head slightly, overwhelmed yet ecstatic with this new information. “Pleasure to meet you, Swan.” He takes another sip of his coffee and winks at her, delight coloring his eyes.

Emma smiles mirthfully in return, not sure if the use of her last name as a nickname should unsettle her, but also liking the way her name rolls of his accented tongue.

At that unexpected thought she clears her throat and replies hastily, “Right well, thank you again for the coffee.”

Killian nods his head in agreement. Though he wants more time with her, he’s thankful to have gotten this time with her and to have put a smile on her face with the coffee. “My pleasure Swan.”

He picks up his messenger bag, slings it over his shoulder, and strides to exit the little alcove. Just as he clears the bookshelf he hears it. “See you around, Killian.” He continues onward with a happy grin plastered on his face from ear to ear.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading, liking, and reviewing! I am enjoying writing this story and am so thrilled that you all are enjoying it as well. 
> 
> This chapter is one of my favorites but it was extremely difficult to edit, so please excuse any mistakes. That being stated, though I have many of the chapters written and the rest outlined, I don’t know when the next update will be. My writing schedule is to first finish a later chapter from the outline, before going back and editing the next chapter in the queue to be posted. I hope you stick with me on this journey.
> 
> Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think!

(September)

It gradually becomes their thing. Slowly, tentatively, it becomes a routine with them. Killian waits for Emma in the alcove, offers her a coffee, and takes his leave.

The first day Killian had arrived with coffee, it had been dumb luck she arrived to the alcove at the same time as the previous Friday. The second day, it had been with a hopeful heart and optimistic mind that she would arrive at the same time two days in a row – she did.

It was that second day when she asked him flat out if he was stalking her. “Of course not, Swan. Just incredibly lucky I suppose.” Not one to turn down free caffeine, she graciously accepted the coffee with milk.

The third day she rolls her eyes, feigning annoyance at his presence, but the grin that’s elicited after she takes that first sip tells him she’s not actually annoyed.

Still, the fourth day he’s anxious she may not show up, or that his good luck streak has run out. She arrives with a look of apprehension that quickly transforms into a shy smile upon seeing him waiting in the alcove. They blushingly clink their coffee cups together in a toast as they exchange ‘good mornings’ before he takes his leave.

The fifth day he pushes his luck. It is a Friday, a week since meeting her, and on impulse he orders two bear claws and a jelly donut to go with his usual order of three coffees – (one for him, Emma, and Robin). It being a Friday, this could well be the day Swan doesn’t show at the usual time.

Killian grits his teeth and attempts to shrug off his nerves while pacing around the alcove. In an effort to assuage his anxiety, he reasons should he miss Emma, he can offer the extra bear claw to Robin – (whom undoubtedly already inhaled the jelly donut from his security position outside the private study area). He takes a moment to visualizes Robin eagerly eating the bear claw in class, eyes closed, pink cheeks puffed out in happy contentment like an over zealous cartoon character.

The humorous thought helps him quiet the butterflies that have taken residence in his belly, but it’s not long until Emma joins him and the butterflies rapidly resurface.

Killian stops pacing and clears his throat in an effort to hide his anxious energy. He presents the bag to Emma, eyes upturned in a hopeful expression, but he can feel his body quickly heat up in anticipation of her response.

“What is it?” She asks with a pensive set to her brow.

“Bear claw.” He takes a step forward so she can grab the bag from his hands. She does so tentatively, as if the bag may hold a grenade instead of a donut.

Upon opening the bag her gaze snaps upward, startled blue eyes pinning him in place. “With cinnamon?”

“Aye.” He anxiously scratches behind his ear, her surprised look making him second-guess the whole thing. “I apologize if you have an allergy, love. I should have asked, or just not been so stupid.” He shakes his head and clears his throat. “Right, stupid. I’ll be seeing you.”

Killian turns to grab his coffee from where it’s perched on the table and attempts to leave, but Emma stops him with a gentle grip of his wrist. She’s smiling as he turns his gaze back to her. “Cinnamon is my favorite. Thank you.”

A beat passes before Killian regains conscious thought - Emma’s grip on his wrist, her serene smile, and the tint of her eyes captivating him in place. Grateful he hasn’t mucked things up with her, he swallows and allows a relieved chuckle to slip from his throat. “You are most welcome, Swan.”

-/-

Emma becomes accustom to Killian’s visits after that first week. She’s no longer taken by surprise when she enters the alcove and sees his beatific face. She accepts the coffee he offers without complaint or worry about ulterior motives. On Fridays, she delights in the cinnamon bear claw he delivers along with the coffee. He doesn’t linger long, and after an exchange of pleasantries, he’s on his way.

Still, Emma does offer to pay him for his generosity. She’s never been one for handouts, and although he insists it’s no trouble, she can’t shake the guilt and her independent voice. She all but throws a tantrum a few weeks into their routine when she once again offers to pay him back, and he once again graciously declines payment.

“Look, this is nice and all, but I don’t do handouts. I’ve been taking care of myself my entire life and I can damn well afford my own coffee. Let me pay you back. If this continues,” she gestures between the two of them with a wagging finger and shrugs her shoulders, “I mean, I owe you like what, twenty-two dollars now?”

Emma’s outburst catches Killian off guard, but he stops himself from spewing the usual retort of ‘no repayment necessary.’ Her proclamation, steely gaze, and set of her jaw show him a glimpse of her not yet seen. He is under no disillusionment that Swan is indeed fierce and strong, yet now, as he takes her in, he sees the vulnerability underlining her entire demeanor. He senses she’s trying to protect herself, looking for an out, so as to put an end to their acquaintanceship before it can become something more.

Killian doesn’t want to scare her, but he does want to make clear his intentions – (even if he can’t be one hundred percent honest with her). Being friends with Killian Jones is one thing, being friends with Crown Prince Killian Bartholomew Frederick Christian Jones I is an entirely different matter.

So squaring his shoulders and offering a gentle smile, he hopes his words don’t scare Emma into running. “Alright Swan, have it your way. You can pay me back in whatever form you deem fit, but not in currency.” His smile morphs into a flirtatious grin as her eyes glaringly sharpen at his teasing. “However, as you inquired into how long our engagements shall continue, let me be clear. I like you Swan. I think we could be good friends. What say you?”

Emma’s body visibly tenses and he instantly drops his flirtatious grin. Despite the confidence with which he had spoken, Killian is nervous for her reaction. He scratches behind his ear and rocks back on his heels, eyes sheepishly cast downward. He hopes Emma feels a connection with him as he does with her. He truly hopes they can be friends, but a latent more selfish part of him – (that he tries not to pay too much attention to because of the repercussions involved) - hopes they can be more than friends. That is, if he were granted the opportunity to know her better.

Emma exhales a breath she had unconsciously been holding at Killian’s declaration. Two weeks of exchanging coffee and early morning pleasantries made them acquaintances, and although she wanted to be friendly after the first day he arrived with coffee, she hasn’t allowed herself to think or hope about building a friendship with him. Apart from Ruby, Elsa, Mary-Margaret and David, she didn’t have friends. Not because of a lack of opportunity, but because she preferred it that way. Keep to yourself and no one can hurt you. Was she ready to take a leap and let Killian into her life?

“You want to be friends?”

Killian gazes upward and is greeted with her inquisitive stare. “Aye, if you will allow it of course, but if it is too much Swan... ” Killian drops his head once more, gaze now affixed on the thirty-plus year old carpet.

Emma expels another breath – time for another leap of faith – and resolutely shakes her head. “Friends. We can be friends.”

Killian’s head snaps back up and an infectious smile coalesces his face, blue eyes locked on emerald stones. “Truly?”

Emma laughs at his eagerness. Perhaps this friendship will be good for her, especially if he appears equally nervous about the venture. She shifts her feet and exhales. “Yes, friends. And we can start by you staying and joining me in studying instead of leaving.”

“Yeah?” Killian can’t hide his happiness - he’s downright giddy. If Robin is ease dropping on the conversation, there will surely be unrelenting teasing about it later.

“Yeah. Now about that repayment,” Emma arches her brow in a teasing manner, “if I can’t pay you in currency - seriously I don’t understand why you speak so formally - than I want to at least begin trading days.” She shrugs her shoulders and throws him a grin. “After all, that is what friends do, right? Take turns.”

Killian chuckles and nods his head. “Indeed Swan, _friends_ take turns.”

“Good. So since you brought the coffee today, let me bring the coffee tomorrow.”

Killian steps back in a low bow, keeping his gaze level with hers, and with a rolling sweep of his hand and a grin plastered from ear to ear says, “If the lady insists.”

-/-

From that day forward, their routine changes. They trade days bringing one another coffee, and Killian stays and studies with Emma in their hidden alcove. It’s not long before studying becomes second to talking.

He learns she’s a criminal justice major and works as a bail bond’s woman. Instead of being in awe at her profession, he simply whistles and says, “Tough lass.”

She learns he’s double majoring and already has a bachelor’s degree in economics. She astutely labels him an overachiever.

Throughout their easy banter, they swap stories and share bits of their lives with one another.

The first and hardest thing Emma knows she has to share is about Henry and being a single mother. It isn’t that she keeps knowledge of Henry a secret, but rather knowledge of Henry is privileged. Henry is the most important person in her life, and as carefully as Emma guards her heart, she is even more protective of her son’s.

Emma walks into the alcove to find Killian already hunched over a textbook. Steadying her breath, she walks forward and places the coffee on the table, just as he turns to face her in greeting. Instead of taking a seat, she remains standing, cutting off his hello with an effective, “I have a son.”

She expects his pupils to dilate or his brow to lift in surprise, hell she even expects him to incredulously ask for clarification. What she is not expecting is for Killian to smile and gently nod his head, a silent encouragement for her to continue underlining his soft and unguarded eyes.

Taken off guard by his easy expression – (and not yet detecting any signs he is going to run) - Emma continues, “His name is Henry and he’s six years old. He is everything to me and always will come first in my life. So either that is okay with you and we can continue our friendship, or it is not okay with you, in which case - ” she gestures between them with a pointed finger, “this is over.”

Killian digests Emma’s words and assesses her resolute stare. She’s daring him to run, almost expecting it. Although he’s truly surprised by her revelation, he’s even more amazed Emma is choosing to open up and trust him with this most personal knowledge. Already, he wants to know more about the lad and about Emma’s life as a mother.

He realizes now is the opportune moment to divulge his secret to Emma, but out of fear for self-preservation, he chooses to ignore the thought. Instead, he simply grins and asks, “So is that why you are here so early in the morning? The lad has his own school to get to? And here I thought you were just a punctual 4.0 student, when really young Henry is behind your academic performance.”

A breathless chuckle escapes Emma’s lips as she moves to sit next to him. Nodding his head encouragingly, she accepts his silent offer to share only what she feels comfortable disclosing.

She tells him only fragments of her history, but enough to know she became pregnant at nineteen, was abandoned soon after by Henry’s father, and has worked hard to provide for Henry while managing to attend school part time. She omits the parts about growing up in the foster system and about her time in prison after being framed by Neal for a crime he committed – (mere days after informing Neal of her pregnancy).

Killian takes it all in stride, oscillating between pride in Emma’s courage and resiliency, anger at the coward of a man who hurt her, and curiosity about the boy who can makes her eyes sparkle at just the thought of him.

“Thank you for sharing more about your beginnings with me, love. It is truly an honor.”

Emma’s eyes roll at his flowery language, but as the morning continues, she’s plagued with the comforting yet nagging thought that Killian is not going to run away. It’s irrational - she’s only known the man for a month and is just now considering him a friend. Logically, she knows he may eventually run and leave just as Neal and Walsh had done. Yet somehow, her gut is pulling her toward him. It’s a scary thought and one she won’t allow herself to contemplate just yet.

So the next morning when Emma enters the alcove, she ignores the pitter-patter of sparks in her belly at the sight of Killian, happily waiting for her arrival with a genuine smile and an offered cup of coffee in hand.

-/-

(October)

Slowly yet quickly a true friendship emerges. They make each other laugh and tease each other mercilessly. They steal pieces of each other’s breakfast pastries, borrow pens and highlighters, and as silly as besotted teenagers, kick at each other’s ankles under the desk when teasing reaches its peak.

“You mean to tell me _Thor_ is the lad’s favorite superhero? Thor, the big hammer wielding gorilla?” Killian’s nose scrunches as if a foul odor has wafted up to his olfactory bulbs.

“What’s wrong with Thor?”

Killian snorts and waives his hand through the air. “He left his lady love on earth and returned to Asgard. Stupid git should have taken the girl with him or have stayed with her.”

Emma laughs behind her cup of coffee. “It’s not like he had a choice. He had a duty to his family, to his kingdom. Jane understood and they were still together, just you know,” she shrugs her shoulders, “long distance.”

“Aye, but they were always kept apart by their own duties. Not exactly a happy ending.” Killian shakes his head; the irony of the parallels between his story and Thor’s not lost on him, even if Emma didn’t have a clue. And Emma didn’t have a clue because he had yet to reveal the truth about himself.

She narrows her eyes in amusement. “Right, well I hardly think my six year old likes Thor because of the romantic back story. Henry’s all about super powers and heroes defeating villains.”

“I actually didn’t mind Loki that much.”

This time Emma is the one to snort. “Odin will smite you.”

-/-

“What do you mean you aren’t British? I’ve been referring to you as ‘the Englishman’ to all my friends!”

“You talk about me to your friends?” he smugly retorts.

She rolls her eyes and throws a pencil at him. “Shut up. Seriously though.”

He chuckles and picks the pencil up. “Seriously? I’m Danish,” he sweeps Emma’s bangs aside and places the pencil behind her ear, “I’m from Denmark.”

Emma pretends the rush of heat that sweeps over her body is due to the library’s heater and not the gentle brush of Killian’s fingers in her hair. “What in the hell is a Danish person doing all the way out here in sleepy Storybrooke, Mass?”

Killian stills at the question. It isn’t unexpected, but he wishes they could have bypassed this venture into his roots. He knows the thought isn’t fair to Emma, she is opening up to him, exposing bits and pieces of herself to him, the least he can do is return the favor.

He should have disclosed his secret the day she shared about Henry. Emma had trusted him enough to reveal her most guarded secret, yet he still hasn’t found the courage to reciprocate. It’s cowardly, but he’s afraid she will not accept him upon learning the entire truth - that he is the prince and sole heir to the throne of Denmark. That he’s attending university in Storybrooke because shortly following his brother’s death, his reckless behavior and wild partying became the focal point of gossip magazines, besmirching the royal family’s reputation. Thus, in an effort to distract the media and bring the state of Denmark back to the forefront, his father’s advisors moved him stateside to ensure his education be completed in private seclusion, away from Denmark’s public eye.

In retrospect – (though he’s loathed to admit it) - he is thankful his father’s advisors stepped in and uprooted him to the states. His behavior following Liam’s death was certainly bad form, the exact opposite of what Liam had instilled in him. And if nothing else, his move to the states all those years ago led to Emma. But even telling Emma how much her friendship is beginning to mean to him would be a step too far. In his gut he knows, if Emma were to learn his secret, she would run from him, from their friendship, and from the possibility of becoming something more.

So instead he settles for a half-truth. “Just wanted a slower pace after… after my older brother, Liam, passed away.”

Not expecting the serious turn in conversation, a breath escapes Emma. A part of her aches to run at the intimacy of the moment, but a stronger part wants to offer him comfort - even if the only comfort she can provide is a listening ear and open presence. Determined, she shifts in the chair, faces him squarely, and leans slightly forward in encouragement for him to continue.

Registering Emma’s supporting presence, and realizing this is the first time he’s opening up to someone who isn’t Robin, Killian steels himself before beginning. “You know I’m studying military history and political science, and that I already have a degree in economics.” He pauses and softly laughs as Emma playfully rolls her eyes as if to say, ‘brag much?’

Thankful for the brief respite, he clears his throat, gathering his courage to continue. “What you don’t know is, I’m pursuing my degrees at the urgency of my father. Liam was supposed to inherit my father’s…business, but the undiagnosed lung cancer had other plans for him I suppose.”

Killian grits his teeth in unresolved anger at the unfairness of it all. Why bother with health check-ups every six months if the cancer is routinely missed and found only when it’s already terminal? Liam - bright and pure and perfect - was stolen by the same pestilent disease that had claimed his mother’s life. No matter how many years Killian may live, no matter how many blessings abound for him, he’s not sure he will ever forgive God for allowing cancer to exist and proliferate.

Seeing the tension in his eyes, Emma places her hand on Killian’s wrist and gives a gentle squeeze to communicate she is still with him. The small act is enough to pull him out of his melancholic thoughts. He offers a small smile in thanks and straightens in his chair, readjusting himself to the present moment.

“Well needless to say, my bloke of a brother left me to inherit our father’s…business, when the arse knew damn well I didn’t want it.” Killian emits a self-deprecating laugh and waves his free hand in the air. He exhales a deep breath and gathers himself once more. “I handled Liam’s passing poorly; drinking myself into stupors and getting into embarrassing scrapes back home. One day, my father had enough and shipped me off to the states to finish my education, away from the painful memories and distractions provided by home…”

Killian’s voice trails off as his wrist moves from under Emma’s hand to rest atop hers, giving her a gentle squeeze in gratitude. They both still at the exchange, locking eyes with one another. He silently pleads with her to not ask for more details, the pain of recalling his past still difficult despite the time he’s had to heal.

Reading his eyes and recognizing a fellow broken soul, Emma nods her head in understanding. With her free hand, she takes a sip of her coffee and simply asks, “So can I now call you, Danish?”

Killian roars with laughter and Emma smiles behind her coffee cup at the sound.

“Whatever makes you happy, Swan.”

Smiling, Emma moves her hand from under his, bends her arm at the elbow and rests it atop the table. She curls her hand into a fist and rests her chin on her knuckles. With a disarming sigh she asks, “So I take it if Liam were around, I’d be able to ask him about your embarrassing childhood stories?” She grins, letting him know she would have loved to of had the opportunity.

He meets her grin square on, eyes crinkling at the happy thought. “Aye lass, I imagine he would have loved to divulge embarrassing and completely over exaggerated stories about my youth. He was a right git, always referring to me as his ‘little brother.’ Bloody annoying it was.”

They both laugh at Killian’s reminiscence and continue the morning in their usual easy banter and effortless conversation.

The very next morning, still not over misinterpreting his accent, Emma surprises Killian by bringing him a cheese danish for breakfast. He doesn’t stop smiling the rest of the day.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A huge thank-you to all who continue reading, reviewing, and liking my story! This is my first attempt at a multichapter work, and I’m so happy that the story I love creating is also loved and bringing some joy to others. As always, please excuse any grammar errors as I’m doing my own editing and quickly learning that editing is my least favorite part about writing (it makes me second guess myself).
> 
> Hope you enjoy this chapter!

(October)

“Shakespeare has been dead for how many centuries? Why are people _still_ studying this crap?” Emma tosses the textbook aside and pushes her chair back in frustration.

“What you so eloquently referred to as ‘crap,’ most people consider literary genius.”

Emma runs a hand through her hair in annoyance. “Yeah well, if I don’t pass this midterm paper I’m royally fucked.”

Killian grins at the turn of her words, biting back the inappropriate innuendo from the tip of his tongue (and shaking the alluring yet shameful image from his mind). “Come now Swan, it can’t be that bad. I can help if you’d like.”

Her brow lifts in curiosity, “You can decipher Shakespeare? But you’re major is political science.”

He chuckles and grabs her textbook, flipping to the page she has bookmarked. “And military history, don’t forget.” Killian winks across the desk as Emma scowls in return; he delights in getting under her skin and knows that she knows it. “And one does not _decipher_ Shakespeare, it is not an encrypted code, lass.”

Emma snorts in response and mumbles, “Might as well be.”

Killian laughs at her sarcastic barb and smiles at the sight of a very unenthused Emma Swan. Her lips are pursed in a pout, eyes fluttering in disinterest, and golden locks tussled into an unruly but natural state - she’s absolutely stunning.

Swallowing quickly, he clears his throat and brings his awareness back to the task at hand.

“Now, some say Shakespeare was an excellent politician and historian, among other things...” Killian’s voice trails off as his eyes scan the page and surprisingly to Emma, she finds her own interest slightly piqued due to his. “Ah excellent, Richard III. Pay attention Swan, this one is gritty.”

Emma rolls her eyes before straightening in her chair. If Killian can be of any help, far be it from her to stop him from geeking out over a dead playwright.

For the rest of the week, Killian begins helping Emma ‘decode’ the eloquent phrasing of Shakespeare. She makes an honest attempt to digest what he is teaching, but even during the more interesting tidbits, she catches herself staring at him, distracted by the passionate way in which Killian explains the plot and characters. Rather than studying about the nefarious manipulations of Richard III, she studies the contours of Killian’s face, the crease of his dark brow, the roundness of his lips, the way his eyes sparkle a brighter blue when excited, and the way his dark scruff reflects tints of auburn when the light refracts.

“Love? Love?”

“Huh? Yeah!” Emma startles and clears her throat, “I mean yeah. Yeah that totally makes sense.” She sits up straighter in her chair and tries to hide the rosy blush that is rapidly creeping across her cheeks.

Killian arches a brow in amusement. It is clear Swan is no longer paying attention to his insightful ramblings, and perhaps if he hadn’t gotten lost in his own enthusiasm for the topic, he would have noticed earlier and drawn her attention back in. He knows Emma is concerned about the upcoming midterm, and though he shouldn’t laugh at her feeble attempts at understanding Shakespeare, he can’t help delighting in the site of a very flustered and very enchanting Swan.

So deciding to make the most of an opportunity to playfully tease, he crosses his arms over his chest, leans back in his chair, and plasters a taunting smirk on his face. “Lose you there did I, Swan? You have wounded me, lass.”

“No!” Emma clears her throat once more, attempting but failing to school her voice into a defensive tone. “No of course not, I heard all of what you just said.” Embarrassed at being caught staring, and trying to play off her inattentiveness, Emma adverts her eyes and takes a sip of her long ago emptied coffee cup. Why did she think a grande size cup would do? Venti, always order venti for weeks like this.

“Truly? Than please inform, how does Shakespeare paint the difference between Richard and Richmond?” Killian asks in what he hopes is a somewhat serious tone to mask the laughter slowly building up at the back of his throat.

Emma bites her bottom lip and closes her eyes in thought before answering. “Richard is the villain and Richmond is the…”

Killian nods his head in encouragement. Perhaps she was paying more attention than he thought.

“Richmond is the...savior?” She answers with one eye open, unsure of her response.

Killian beams at her, “Bravo love! I dare say you have a shot at passing your exam tomorrow.”

Emma beams back at him, a sheepish smile across her face.

“What say you to celebratory drinks when you get your mark back? My treat for you being an _excellent_ pupil.”

Emma snorts at his sarcastic use of the word ‘excellent.’ They both no she’s been far from a star pupil. Still, she pauses before answering him. They have yet to spend time together outside of the library or the downstairs Starbucks queue, and though they have become fast friends, having drinks together is a big step for her. It would mean admitting that this friendship is real and therefore not confined to the safety of the library’s walls. As simple as it should be, she hesitates at the vulnerability the invitation implies.

She takes a moment to long to consider and Killian registers her hesitation. He clears his throat and casts his gaze downwards, his tone soft and unsure, “If you don’t want to Swan, we don’t have to.” He scratches behind his ear and flicks his gaze upwards toward the ceiling this time. “It was just a thought, really-”

He’s stopped by the touch of Emma’s hand upon his where it rests on the open textbook. “Celebratory drinks sound wonderful.” She smiles softly at him and Killian visibly relaxes, his eyes twinkling with excitement.

Emma is about to pull her hand away to resume their studying when her pupils widen and she further latches onto his hand in a vice grip as a thought occurs to her, “But what if I fail?”

Killian looks down at their entwined hands and turns his hand over so that he is the one gripping Emma’s hand instead. He squeezes her palm gently and with his other hand, tilts her chin up toward him, locking his gaze with hers. “Than we shall drink to failing. You have been working hard Swan, and you have yet to quit. Persevering deserves to be celebrated, aye?”

He’s so sure, so confident in her ability, that she’s momentarily breathless. No one has ever shown confidence in her before; she’s always had to proof her own worth to others, to believe in herself when no one else would. Killian’s faith in her is a new and terrifying feeling, yet it stirs something deep and ancient within her.

Not knowing what to say, Emma simply nods her head and squeezes his hand in return before picking up her textbook to resume their studies on Shakespeare. For the rest of the day, Emma fights off feelings of butterflies in anticipation of drinks with Killian, her friend.

-/-

The morning after Emma gets her midterm score, she rushes into the study alcove and finds Killian already hunched over a textbook, a coffee cup from Granny’s Grinds sitting next to him on the table, waiting for her consumption.

She places her B- midterm paper over his textbook and takes her seat to await his response. Killian turns almost immediately in his chair, beaming at her with bright blue eyes and a smile show casing all of his pearly whites.

“Well done, Swan! I knew you could do it!”

Emma smiles sheepishly at him and takes a sip of her coffee. As the liquid hits her tongue, she pulls the cup back and gives him a questioning look.

“Cinnamon latte. Today is all about celebrating you and the passing of your exam. Latte this morning, beer tonight.”

Killian’s flashing her a gleeful grin, so she grins right back at him. Lost in his smile and penetrating blue gaze, she takes another sip of her latte in an effort to quell the invisible heat that is coursing through her body, making her feel flushed. A moment passes before she gathers herself and adds, “Oh not just beer, tequila is definitely on the menu too.”

His laughter fills the small alcove as he nods his head in agreement. “If the lady insists.”

-/-

The night is filled with everything Emma needs to decompress. They play a game of Dare or Dare, they toast to the most ridiculous things - “To the moose head on the wall!” – they play two rounds of pool in which Emma wins and Killian claims she cheated, and to close the evening out, they dance to Chuck Berry on the jukebox.

As the evening winds down, it’s clear Emma is quite inebriated and incapable of driving home and Killian curses himself at the realization. He should have thought about designated driving before coming out in separate vehicles, but he was selfish and wanted an evening alone with Emma – (without having to explain Robin’s presence or lurking shadow as Overwatch).

Still not wanting to call his mate, he helps Emma into her coat and walks her out into the chilly night. Truthfully, he’s not even remotely tempted to foolishly attempt to drive her home himself just yet. Though he’s not anywhere near as plastered as Emma, he’s still quite tipsy and needs to sober up before getting behind the wheel of his vehicle. A quick glance at his watch tells him it is two o’clock in the morning.

“Where to mate?” Emma asks in a fit of laughter that drowns out her attempt at mimicking his accent.

Killian takes hold of her hand and laces his gloved fingers through hers. He leads her down the sidewalk and across the street to the neon sign that signals a 24-hour diner. God bless American college towns. If there is a bar nearby, chances are there is a diner within walking distance. Hangovers and hangover cures make for good capital gain.

“Ooh pancakes!” Emma coos as they take a seat in one of the booths. “Can we have pancakes? Oh, French toast! What about a pancake sandwiched between French toast? We can call it Pan Frenched! Or French Caked!”

Killian shakes his head in amusement at Emma’s drunken antics as he slides out of his coat and takes a seat across from her in the booth. “You can have whatever your heart desires, Swan. We’ve got to get you sobered up, yeah?” He reaches across the table and helps remove her gloves - (she had adorably struggled to wiggle out of her red pea coat after needing Killian’s assistance taking a seat in the booth).

When the waitress comes by he orders a carafe of coffee, waters, and two greasy American breakfast platters with a side order of pancakes and French toast. When he turns his attention back to Emma, she’s smiling widely with two straws placed perfectly in her mouth in imitation of a walrus, nodding her head in appreciation.

He laughs exuberantly along with her and grabs two straws of his own to do the same.

They spend two hours at the diner sobering up, stealing food from the other’s plate, and playing with the food they don’t eat. Emma yawns and Killian decides he’s sober and hydrated enough to drive her home. He takes her hand in his once again as they step out of the diner and walk across the street towards his vehicle back at the bar.

The drive to her apartment is much calmer than the rest of the evening had been. The music from the stereo is a dulcet and comforting lullaby and Emma relaxes into the seat warmers as she listens to Killian’s soft vocals as he quietly sings along with Dave Matthews. They don’t speak much save for her prompting him with directions to her place. Rather than being awkward, each of them is content with the lack of conversation. Despite the alcohol within their systems, it’s a comfortable and understanding quiet reserved for the best of friends.

Killian helps a somewhat more sober Emma out of the car and they walk together to her front door. As they walk, Emma leans her head against Killian’s shoulder and he wraps his arm around her waist for support. With much more poise and grace than he can muster when drunk, she easily finds her keys and unlocks the door with little difficulty.

Once she crosses the threshold she turns around and smiles at him lazily. Her eyes are bloodshot and her hair is a bit windswept, but to Killian she is still bloody gorgeous.

“Thanks for tonight, Killian. See you Monday?”

He smiles gently and silently nods his head, taking a step forward. Before he can over think it, he reaches for her hand and places a chaste kiss to her knuckles that smell faintly of maple syrup.

“Goodnight, Swan. See you Monday.” Killian steps back and turns to walk away, but before heading completely down the stairs, he stops and strains his ears for the sound of Emma’s door closing and the lock clicking into place before proceeding the rest of the way.

-/-

The next morning, Emma awakes with a pounding headache. Flashes of the previous night come flooding back – Killian in his black leather jacket, rounds of tequila shots, drunken dancing, breakfast food, and the walrus straws? She turns her head into the softness of her pillow in a poor attempt to hide from her internal embarrassment.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she grumbles to the grayness of her bedroom, the soft rays of daylight peaking subtly through the blinds.

Emma shifts upwards in bed onto her elbows, silently thanking God that Henry is with Neal for the weekend. Checking her cell phone for the time, she notices a text message from Killian.

_Alright there, Swan? I suggest Gatorade and Tylenol, and then coffee if you can stomach it, followed by something greasy. Perhaps a cheeseburger? In case your memory is lapsing, I took the liberty of driving you home last night. Your car keys are in your coat pocket, and your precious ‘Bug’ is parked outside the Rabbit Hole. I had a wonderful time with you lass, congratulations again on passing that midterm. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to ask. Otherwise see you Monday, love. KJ_

Emma leans back into her pillow, expelling a breath while blowing air up at her bangs in frustration. As uncommon as last night was for her, she can’t deny that she had fun. For all the nervous butterflies she felt leading up to the evening, spending time with Killian over drinks felt relaxing, even natural. She may have had one drink too many – (blame Senor Jose Cuervo for that) – but the feeling of letting her guard down, just for the night, was invigorating. It’s not lost on her that the reason she felt so at ease was because of Killian, because of the easy banter they share, the twinkle in his too blue eyes, and that stupid disarming grin of his.

She runs a hand over her face and throws the blankets off in an instant. Staggering through her weekend morning routine, she steadfastly ignores thoughts of Killian and instead begins contemplating which friend she should call to help retrieve her vehicle.

It’s sad how quickly she rules out Ruby. As good a friendship as she has with the sweet yet over zealous brunette, Emma just can’t stand the thought of fielding questions and dodging talk about sex in the midst of a hangover. She thinks seriously about calling Elsa, but is unsure of the young doctor’s schedule. Not wanting to bother the icy blonde on what could be a morning off, Emma grits her teeth and dials David.

Within thirty minutes, the fair-haired blue-eyed prince is at her door. They climb into David’s 1980’s Ford pickup truck and head to the Rabbit Hole.

“So, you going to tell me about this mystery man that got sky-high-walls Emma Swan to go out on a date?” David asks curiously yet teasingly from behind the wheel.

Emma clenches her jaw and rolls her eyes. “It wasn’t a date.”

David gives her a dubious look from the corner of his eye.

Bristling at the implication, Emma shrugs her shoulders defensively. “It was just two friends out celebrating…” She gestures with a wave of her hand and continues, “with tequila.” Emma pauses and licks her chapped lips in a habitual motion as she looks out the window. “Lots and lots of tequila.”

David lets out a gruff, “Uh huh” before continuing on with the rest of the drive, content to let the topic rest and proceeding to inquire about Henry. Once they pull into the parking lot of the Rabbit Hole he makes his offer. “How about you come over and visit with Mary-Margaret? Then you can tell us more about this mystery man of yours.”

Sighing exasperatedly, Emma mulls the offer over for a moment before conceding. She knows David won’t let the topic of Killian go easily, and she can’t think of a better way to explain her new friend to him than in the safety net presence of his wife, Mary Margaret and their newborn son, Leo. At least with Leo around, David will have to keep the incredulous voice rising to a minimum.

Nodding her head in acquiescence at David’s scheming, Emma climbs out of the truck with a “Sure” tossed over her shoulder. Once in the safety of her Bug, Emma rolls her eyes up at the heavens and sends up another prayer to help her get through the rest of the day. Without an over thought, she pulls out her phone from her jacket pocket and sends off a text message.

_“Gatorade and Tylenol, check. Coffee not so much, still rehydrating. Those are some serious dance moves you have there, Jones. What other secrets do you have up your sleeve? ES_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! If you’re wondering, I did take a class called “Shakespeare: The Early Years” as an elective despite English not being my major when I was in undergrad. Unlike Emma, it was by choice and I happened to have loved Richard III.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, thank you all for reading, liking, and commenting on this story! This chapter is double the normal length, a little over 6K, but I liked the flow too much to break it into two different chapters. For everyone waiting to see when Killian’s secret will be revealed, I’m planning for it to be soon, after the next two updates, so please bear with me a little longer. As always, please forgive any grammatical errors. 
> 
> Special shout out to EAL for your birthday, your friendship, and your eagerness to read my writing; you’re amazing Smalls.

(November)

A few weeks after their midterm celebration, the first winter front arrives like clockwork, complete with the first snow and sleet of the season. The turn in weather is expected, however Emma’s Volkswagen breaking down is not.

Cursing as she attempts yet again to get the engine started, Emma resigns herself to fate. Looking in the rearview mirror, she meets Henry’s gaze. “Sorry buddy, it looks like we’re going to be commuters this week.”

“Okay Mom,” Henry says sweetly, as if the news doesn’t perturb him in the least. And how could it?

Emma smiles back at her son, her brave little soldier. Letting out an exasperated sigh – (really it’s too early for this crap) - Emma buttons up her coat and exits the vehicle, turning to help Henry climb out as well. After buttoning up Henry’s coat, she locks the vehicle and entwines her hand with his as they make their trek to the nearest bus stop.

The sky is still dark at this hour and the freezing sleet has already turned both their noses pink. After several minutes, there is still no sign of the bus and Henry’s six-year-old patience level is quickly disappearing.

“How much longer Mom?”

Emma grits her teeth and checks the application on her phone. Sure enough, there are delays spanning two stops before this one. “A little longer buddy, just hang in there.” She squeezes Henry’s hand in reassurance and silently sends up a prayer the wait won’t be much longer. She could handle the wait if alone, but Henry is with her and she doesn’t want him to catch a cold in the freezing wet rain.

Once the bus finally arrives, packed with only standing room available, Emma lifts Henry into her arms for the duration of the commute. Balancing Henry and both their bags on her shoulders, she prompts Henry to tell her about the toy he’s brought for show-and-tell to distract him from the discomfort of the tight quarters. Henry happily explains all about Thor and why he chose the God of Thunder over the other Avengers he considered bringing.

An hour and a half later, Emma makes it to the library with only fifteen minutes before the beginning of her first class. Rationally she knows there isn’t enough time to study, but she disregards the thought in hopes of catching Killian before he leaves.

She rounds the corner to the tax law section and ignores the flip in her stomach as she registers Killian exiting the alcove, his stoic face morphing into cheer at the sight of her.

“Swan! I was beginning to worry about you, thought you’d decided to play hooky for the day.” 

Killian offers Emma the cup of coffee he had been holding as he takes in her appearance. Her hair is sticking out in frizzy waves from under her beanie, her nose and cheeks are flushed pink, and her red coat is sprinkled with evidence of being caught in the sleet. Gods, she’s beautiful.

Emma takes a long pull of the coffee, not even caring that it is long since gone cold. Straightening herself, she nods her head in thanks nonetheless. “Unexpected car trouble. Henry and I had to take the bus this morning and there were delays. I just managed to get him to school. 

Killian nods his head in understanding, an idea forming behind is eyes, but before he can voice it, he’s stopped by the arrival of Robin.

“All ready there, sir?”

Killian sharply inhales and briefly casts his eyes downward before forcing a tight smile and meeting his mate’s guilt ridden eyes. Rarely does Robin refer to him as ‘sir’ or ‘your highness’ outside of formal circumstances, but sometimes Robin lets it slip more out of jest than dutiful respect.

Still, this isn’t how he wanted Emma and Robin to meet. Even though she knows about Robin, he’s yet to introduce them or explain that Robin is the very same man she sometimes sees standing outside the alcove in the mornings. He’d also been insistent on wanting more privacy with Emma, and because Robin agreed to be more lax when it comes to guard duties, he’s steadfastly ignored thoughts of them meeting out of uncertainty on how to navigate the situation.

Telling her about Robin’s role beyond friendship would necessitate coming clean about his identity, something he’s loath to do. He cares for Emma and doesn’t want to hurt her, but he’s also petrified of losing her and he’s a selfish enough bastard to want to keep her for as long as possible. 

Killian’s torn from his internal debate at the sound of Emma’s curiosity.

“Sir?” Emma says looking back and forth between the two men. Her eyebrows pinch in confusion as she takes in Robin’s green army jacket and sandy scruff. “Wait, I’ve seen you around before. You sometimes hang out here reading.”

Killian doesn’t miss the way Emma’s eyes narrow in suspicion as she turns her attention from Robin to him, waiting for an explanation.

Killian nods his head and swallows his nerves, choosing to not shy away from her incredulous gaze. “Aye, Emma this is Robin,” he sweeps his hand between the two of them, “Robin, this is Emma. I guess it is half past time the two of you became acquainted.” Anxious, he shifts on the balls of his feet and tugs at the strap of his canvas messenger bag slung across his chest.

Robin, smiling widely, extends his hand in greeting. “Pleasure to meet you, m’lady.”

Emma’s brow arches up in surprise upon hearing another Danish accent as she shakes his hand warily, “Um…yeah you too.” Turning to address Killian she adds, “Why didn’t you tell me this was Robin? Or that he’s from the same country as you?” 

Killian anxiously scratches behind his ear, unsure of what to say that won’t scare her away. He exhales and decides to go with a version of the truth. “Aye, Swan I’m sorry. I should have told you sooner, but I didn’t know how. Robin and I have been mates since we were lads in Denmark. When my family decided for me to attend university state side, Robin volunteered to accompany me. He’s not a student, but he likes to tag along to classes and flirt with innocent coeds. It’s his attempt at entertainment while burning through his trust fund. His reference to me as ‘sir’ has been an ongoing thing for as long as I can remember, despite our only being two months apart in age.” 

Emma chances a look back at Robin as she digests Killian’s words.   

Robin’s arms are crossed and his stance wide, but his face is full of mirth, eyes almost twinkling in amusement as he looks past her to Killian. He softly chuckles before shrugging his shoulders and clarifying with a mischievous grin, “He takes himself _way_ too seriously, and he can use a good distraction every once in a while.”

Casting her gaze downward, she takes a moment to processes their explanation. Part of her wants to fume at Killian’s omission - another deceit, another betrayal, why did she think he would be different? But another part, a foreign part, tells her to accept his apology and move on. They’re friends, nothing more, and friends forgive each other. Besides, there is still plenty she hasn’t shared with Killian, including introducing him to her friends. So if she’s still choosing to keep secrets and remain behind emotional walls, why should he not do the same? 

Squaring her shoulders, she lets out a deep breath. With a shake of her head, she meets Killian’s subdued gaze. His posture is hunched and his face is crestfallen. “Okay,” she whispers.

Killian blinks in response, unsure if he heard her correctly. “What?” He asks hesitantly, face scrunched up in disbelief.

Emma smiles shyly in return. “Okay, I forgive you and I accept your apology.” Killian’s eyes brighten but Emma holds her hand up in a placating gesture, her gaze earnest, and he readies himself for more. “Make no mistake, I’m ticked as hell that you lied to me. I don’t do well with lying, and I know a thing or two about keeping things close to the chest because of the pain that comes from lying. But… friends forgive each other, so let’s just be more honest from now on. I mean, I’m not great at this ‘friends’ thing, but I do know that friends don’t lie to one another.”

Killian basks in the waves of relief that wash over him. She’s not pushing him away, she’s not running, and God forgive him but now is the opportune moment to come clean. And yet… as she stands in front of him, a dissonance of soft smiles and sharp eyes, it becomes strikingly clear - he’s in love with her. He is in love with Emma Swan, an amazing friend whom he doesn’t deserve and who has asked for a truth he cannot give.

So like the covetous old sinner he is, and ignoring the alarm bells ringing inside his head, he simply nods in agreement. “Aye, Swan, friends don’t lie.” He hopes she can read the beseeching apology in his eyes despite the small, happy smile gracing his lips.          

“Good.”

“Does this mean we are still on for our morning study sessions?”

Emma snorts but doesn’t respond right away, instead she turns to look at Robin, “Does this mean you’ll be joining us from now on instead of hiding out here?”

It’s Killian’s turn to snort and mumble a curse under his breath, but Emma just slants her eyes, giving him a pointed look.

“God’s no, I could use the extra hour of sleep now that the two of you are to continue this arrangement.” Robin states, his gaze teasingly directed at Killian. He’s not a hundred percent on board with abandoning his guard duties, but as he’ll be accompanying the prince to classes, he rationalizes Killian can have a morning respite. What harm can truly befall a royal prince in the middle of a university library, in a sleepy American college town? And truthfully, he wants Killian to have this time with the fiery blonde lass. It has been an unreasonable amount of time since he’s seen Killian so happy, he doesn’t want to infringe upon it.

Emma laughs at the teasing look Robin shoots toward Killian, and the grumbling look of annoyance Killian emits in return. It’s clear the two men have a unique bond and she finds it quite entertaining. “Well, it was nice to meet you Robin, finally. I guess I’ll see you around. Killian, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Aye, Swan, absolutely.”

Emma turns on her heel and heads into the greater common area of the library, not wanting to be later than she already is to class. Killian and Robin stay back, the latter arching his brow in a silent question.

Killian grits his teeth and runs a hand over his face in frustration, ignoring Robin’s questioning gaze. He’s royally screwing this up, pun intended. Stomping down on the guilt that’s coursing through him, Killian makes to exit the library without sparing a glance at Robin who is already close on his heels.

-/-

The next morning, Killian begins to panic at Emma’s absence. Rationally he knows she’s taking the bus and may be late, but he still feels guilty for what happened yesterday and is unsure he hasn’t truly driven her away. He wouldn’t fault her if she chose to end their friendship despite having forgiven him. After all, it would be what he deserves. Yet he knows Emma, knows she is everything he is not – good and honest – and it is that thought keeping him rooted in his seat in their study alcove, anxiously awaiting her presence.

His faith in her pays out as Emma arrives thirty minutes late, flushed from the cold and sleet. Not wasting any time, Killian hands her a thermos instead of the usual paper coffee cup. She quirks her brow in a silent question and he shrugs sheepishly in return.  

“I know it’s your turn to buy the coffee, but I figured with you commuting this morning it would be easier if I provided the caffeine,” he gestures to the thermos with a shake of his hand, “well the hot cocoa this morning.”    

Emma’s mouth upturns in an elated grin before taking a sip of the chocolaty drink. Subconsciously, a satisfied moan escapes her throat as the warmth of the drink spreads through her and the flavors of whipped cream and cinnamon dance in tandem on her taste buds. 

Killian feels his body warm at the sound of her pleasure, and he has to look away and scratch behind his ear in order to avoid her witnessing his reddening blush. Bloody hell, he is so screwed.

“Thanks Killian, this is delicious.” Emma slowly swipes her thumb across her upper lip in an effort to wipe away a mustache of whip cream tickling her just under the nose. 

She doesn’t notice Killian’s attempts to look anywhere other than her.

Christ, she has no idea what she is doing to him.

“Ooh I burned my tongue a bit,” Emma continues, swiping her tongue back and forth between the corners of her mouth in a fruitless endeavor to cool the burn.      

The gesture undoes him. Killian stands and takes the thermos from her hand and places it on the table, cursing internally. “Alright there, Swan?” He asks, helping her shrug out of her red pea coat. Beautiful lass has no bloody idea of the affect she has on him.

“Yeah, just another lousy morning. The mechanic said my Bug wouldn’t be ready until this weekend and with the weather forecasting snow all week, I’m really not in the mood. Henry’s patience level is quickly diminishing, not that I blame him.”

Killian steels himself as he sits back down in the chair, unsure how she’ll receive his offer. “Love, I know this is not the best of timing, what with yesterday and all…” He pauses to search Emma’s eyes for any hint of trepidation or fear. Upon seeing nothing but gentle encouragement, he exhales and starts over.

“Emma, I am sorry about yesterday. I am sorry I was not forthright with you concerning Robin. I am an ass and a royal git, there is no excuse for my behavior and I do not deserve your kindness or forgiveness. The last thing I ever want to do is hurt you. No matter what Emma, please believe that.”

Looking into the depths of his cerulean eyes, Emma assesses him for any signs of a lie. Finding none, she places a hand atop his own where it rests on his lap, and gently cups the side of his face with the other.

Killian’s breath hitches at her touch, his heart beating frantically at their close proximity. Despite Emma’s trek through the snow, her fingers are warm to the touch, and he finds himself drowning in the contact. 

“I know, Killian. I believe you…” Emma pauses and straightens ever so slightly in her chair. Recalling the thoughts she had ruminated on the night before – (Killian’s admission, her conflicted emotions, their friendship, Killian himself) - she gives him an honest smile and admits, “I trust you.”

Without conscious thought, Killian’s eyes close as his face leans further into her palm. Though he probably should be smiling for Emma’s benefit, he’s not, as the guilt alarms begin blaring in his head once again.

Emma allows herself one small moment to gently caress his face before she’s pulling her hand away and clearing her throat. Shaking the intimacy off, her new mantra shouting at her on loop – _just friends, just friends,_ \- she turns and takes a sip of hot cocoa from the thermos. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Killian righting himself back to the present, clearly also having been affected by the intimate moment.

Killian blinks and his stunned smile contorts back into the smooth signature smirk he knows Emma secretly loves. “Right, well I have a proposition for you, Swan. The weather is only going to get worse and as you said, young Henry isn’t too happy with his new routine. Might I offer you my services?”

She squints her eyes teasingly at him, thankful for the easy way in which they can slip back into safe territory. “Depends on what _services_ you’re offering there,” she says grinning.

He chuckles and rolls his eyes, happily taking the bait to unabashedly tease and harmlessly flirt. “Not those services, Swan, get your mind out of the gutter. I am offering to be your escort for you and young Henry’s morning commute until your vehicle is fixed.”

“Escort?” She asks with an arch of her brow.

“You must really want to know what other _services_ I can provide, aren’t you, Swan?” He fires back with a wink.  

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Killian’s eyes narrow in laser precision, honing in on her virescent eyes and supple lips. He quickly debates spilling another innuendo to continue their flirty banter – (and to mask his hopefully subtle attraction) - but then he sees a spec of hesitation sweep across her eyes. Backtracking into safer territory he continues, “Come now Swan, you can flirt with me later, but right now I want to solve the more pressing matter of you versus the weather.”

Emma expels a breath, grateful that Killian put the breaks on their flirty banter. She hopes her attraction to him wasn’t too apparent.

Taking another sip of cocoa, she considers his proposal. One part of her is sore at his offer of charity - does he think her incapable? She’s always been able to provide for her and Henry without needing handouts. At times it’s difficult, certainly stressful both emotionally and financially, but she’s always prided herself on pulling through. Still, another part is tempted to accept his offer. Apart from the weather being a bitch and not wanting Henry to catch a cold, they are friends, and friends help each other out.  

And despite his previous deceit about Robin, she truly does believe Killian to be repentant. Though it hurt that he lied by omission – (as if she’s been completely forthcoming about her past) - he didn’t attempt to make excuses, but instead admitted to doing wrong. Killian owning up to his mistake is the first time anyone’s held themselves accountable to wronging her, and because of that, she is unexpectedly able to trust him.

Regardless, this arrangement would mean he would be meeting and spending time with Henry. She trusts Killian, and she loves their friendship, but her son is another matter.

Decided, she shakes her head resolutely. “I don’t think so, Killian. Thank you for the kind offer, but Henry and I will be just fine.”

His easy grin slips slightly and Emma feels like she has just taken a needle to his balloon. Before she can assuage him, he beats her to it, plastering that easy grin back into place and lightly waving his hand in the air. “No worries, Swan. The offer still stands if you change your mind. You need only ask.” Killian nods his head and smiles genuinely for emphasis.

Emma smiles appreciatively in return and they continue about the morning.

-/-

“Come on Henry, it’s time to get up.” Emma enters her son’s room and moves around the bed to shut off his Avengers nightlight. With a gentle shake, she pulls the covers slightly away from her bleary eyed boy. “Come on kid, we’ve got to catch the bus again today, remember?”

Unexpectedly, Henry yanks the covers back into place. “I don’t want to go Mom.”

Startled at this uncommon behavior of her boy, Emma’s hands move to her hips and her head tilts in confusion. “But you love school Henry and it’s still show-and-tell week.”

Henry only pulls the blankets up further so that his head is completely covered. From under the blankets, he shakes his head in a vigorous ‘no.’

Emma lets out a frustrated breath. They really don’t have time for this. “Henry, I’m going to count to three until you have to get up and start getting ready for school, otherwise we are going to be late and you won’t get your after-school hot cocoa.” Emma’s never had to use bribery on Henry, and she’s not sure how she feels about it, but it’s too early to try another tactic.

Admitting defeat, Henry pulls back the covers before Emma begins counting. “No Mom, it’s too cold. I don’t want to wait for the bus in the snow today.”    

Emma’s heart trembles at her son’s innocent admission, never mind his sad pouting face. Turns out, her brave little soldier can only take two days of the snow and sleet before tapping out. And as much as she wants to tap out too, she can’t afford to miss her morning lab class, and she doesn’t want Henry to learn the wrong lesson of it being okay to quit on one’s responsibilities.

So taking a step back from Henry’s bed and squeezing her eyelids closed with her thumb and index finger, she considers her options. Ruby is out of town this week, Elsa is most likely still at work from the night shift, Mary-Margaret has a newborn, and David has probably just arrived to the sheriff station. She grunts internally at the only option left – Killian. Guess she’ll be teaching Henry a lesson about pride today too, though he may not realize it.

“Alright kid, get dressed. I need to go make a phone call.”

Leafing through her phone contacts to find Killian’s number, she rationalizes she’s only calling because of Henry, not because she wants too. Ignoring the realization of this being the first time she’s calling instead of hiding behind a text message, and downplaying the meaning of him officially meeting Henry – (Killian’s a close friend and Henry knows her close friends, this shouldn’t be a big deal) - she’s startled when he picks up after the third ring.

“Swan?”

“Hi, Killian. Sorry to call so early, um, did I wake you?”

His laughter sounds deeper through the phone, and she wonders if it’s deeper because of the early morning hour or because of the phone connection. She wonders if he’s already up and about or if he’s lying back in bed, warm beneath the sheets. Halting the breaks on that train of thought, she silently curses herself.

“Not to worry lass, I’ve been awake. To what do I owe the pleasure of your beautiful voice this morning?” 

Emma closes her eyes and shakes off the endearing compliment, despite the smirk creeping across her face. Balancing the phone to her ear, she folds her arms across her chest and continues, “I was wondering if that offer from yesterday still stands? If you’d be able to give me and Henry a ride to campus this morning?” She cringes at having to ask for help, but Henry’s honest face comes to mind and she swallows down her pride.

“Of course love, I’d be honored. Is there anything I can get for you and the lad besides the usual coffee?” His tone is sincere and Emma fights the feeling of her stomach flipping over with butterflies.

“Maybe an apple juice for Henry? He’ll be solemn if we both have drinks and he doesn’t.”

The sound of his deep laughter reaches her once again and a blush creeps across her cheeks. “Aye, than an apple juice it shall be. Go about your morning Swan, I’ll be there in thirty?”

“Yeah, okay. Um, thanks again Killian, really. I didn’t mean to be an inconvenience or -”

He lets out a groan, almost like a growl, effectively cutting off her rambling. “Think nothing of it, love. I wouldn’t have offered if I had no intention of following through.”

Emma nods her head before realizing he can’t see her. “Right, okay.”

“And lass,” he asks before she can end the call, “you are _never_ an inconvenience.”

Killian disconnects and Emma is left staring at her phone, dumbfounded at the fierce yet comforting intonation of his words, as if the very thought of her being an inconvenience to anyone is offensive to him. Composing herself, Emma begins her morning routine and checks on Henry to ensure he’s doing the same.

Thirty minutes later, bellies full of Honey Nut Cheerios – (she tries for them to be somewhat healthy) – they’re ready to go when there’s a knock on the door.  

“Okay Henry, remember what I told you? Be good and use your manners. Mommy’s friend Killian is doing us a huge favor, so we don’t have to wait in the snow for the bus.” Emma reaffirms as she helps Henry pull his Avengers backpack on over his jacket.      

“Yes Mom,” Henry says eagerly, squirming out of her grasp once his backpack is secure as he goes to open the front door. “Hi Killian! My name is Henry! I’m supposed to tell you thank you for taking us to school today!”

Killian’s focus is solely on the little spitfire before him, but he hears Emma sigh in controlled exasperation, undoubtedly because Henry opened the front door, which he guesses is most likely against the rules. Still, he bends down slightly and extends his hand in formal greeting for Henry to shake, which the lad enthusiastically does. “Hello, Henry. It is a pleasure to meet you lad.”

The pair release hands and Killian finally makes eye contact with Emma. She’s standing a few feet behind Henry, her smile a mix of annoyance at her son’s disobedience and amusement at the duo’s greeting.  

“Good morning, Swan. You look lovely today.”

Shrugging into her coat, Emma rolls her eyes at the compliment but the smirk she’s wearing tells him she secretly appreciates it. “You don’t look so bad yourself.” Turning her attention back to Henry, who’s clearly ready to go if his bouncing on the balls of his feet is any indication, she motions for them to exit the apartment.

As they make the short walk to the parking lot, Henry fills Killian’s ears with talk of school. Emma smiles softly as she notices how Killian pays rapt attention to Henry, and even asks Henry questions with that same genuine tone she’s come to associate with him. 

Killian pulls his keys out of his coat pocket and unlocks his vehicle. “Here we are, lad. There’s an apple juice in the backseat just for you, courtesy of your lovely mother.”

Henry opens the backseat door and climbs in, an excited “Cool!” escaping his lips followed by a “Thank you!” as he straps himself in with the seatbelt and closes the door behind him.  

Killian smiles at the lad’s antics, but Emma stands awestruck and rooted to the spot next to him.

“A BMW?”

Emma can’t stifle her incredulous tone, but seriously, what college student can afford a BMW X6, and how had she missed this before? She silently huffs as her brain catches up in reminder – oh yeah, _tequila_.

“It’s a lease.”  

“It’s a BMW.”

“Family money?” He nervously scratches behind his ear.

“That work on all the girls?” She arches her brow at him teasingly rather than in challenge.

Killian’s gaze drops to his boots and he softly kicks at the snow blanketing the ground as memories come flooding back of empty dalliances, promiscuous women, and wild partying days complete with rum induced blackouts following Liam’s death. He knows she’s merely jesting, but the memories grip him in an iron fist, and it’s a struggle to swallow down the bile attempting to rise up in his throat at the man he used to be. “I’m ashamed to say that yes, my family’s money has worked in the past.”

He’s unaware he’s clenching his fist until he feels Emma’s gloved hand cover his own. He looks up at her and once again, the guilt roars in his head at the sight of her caring eyes.

“And me?” She gently prods, directly challenging him with a tilt of her head and a softly pointed stare.

Killian turns to face her completely, personal space all but eliminated, their boots knocking toes in the snow. He doesn’t let go of her hand, instead entwining their gloved fingers. Leaning his head down - he’s a good foot taller than her – he gently swipes a wisp of loose hair behind her ear, and holds her gaze. “No Swan,” he whispers firmly, “you are not a lass who can be wooed with money. You’re much too brilliant for that. Settling for money or security, rather than love and character, is a dangerous game, one you are much to wise to play.”  

Neither of them misses how Emma’s breath hitches uncontrollably, both at his words and the warmth of their proximity. If she were to slightly arch her face up a few more inches, she could meet his lips in a kiss, and judging from the piercing look in his eyes, he’s thinking the same. Before she can decide whether or not to act on her desire, Killian takes a step back and squeezes her hand reassuringly.

“Best not keep the lad waiting, aye?”

Flustered at the out he’s given her, and at the realization she almost kissed him, Emma collects herself and lets go of his hand before proceeding to the passenger door, muttering a “Yeah” under her breath.

Killian starts the vehicle as Emma buckles herself in. Fully intent on forgetting their little moment, she takes a sip of her coffee as they begin the drive. _Just friends. Just friends. Just friends._

“So lad, your mother tells me your favorite super hero is Thor?”

Emma’s eyes shoot up in disbelief at Killian’s question, her attention firmly on him and not the road. That conversation was months ago - around the time they first began their friendship - he can’t possibly remember it, and yet Killian’s not looking at her, instead glancing at Henry in the backseat through the rearview mirror.

“Yeah, Thor is the best! He’s an Asgardian and wields the power of his hammer, Mjolnir!”

Killian laughs in delight at Henry’s enthusiasm and proceeds to engage him in conversation about Thor and the Avengers the entire ride to campus. Emma, - (disbelief turning to endearment) - simply listens and sips at her coffee, completely taken aback by Killian’s sincere interest in Henry without having to use her as a buffer or conversation initiator. Part of her is scared at the easy manner in which Killian appears to get along with Henry, but for now, she is content to enjoy their budding camaraderie. Also, she’s secretly delighted to learn of Killian’s inner geek side.

Once they drop Henry off at the learning center, they make their way across campus. They stop at the Starbucks for a refill of coffee and proceed to go about their morning study routine. For the rest of the day, Emma attempts to rationalize the morning’s earlier moment as simply two friends caught up in conversation and their obvious attraction to one another. She deliberately ignores the roaring voice in her head saying if it weren’t for Killian breaking the moment, she would have happily kissed him on impulse.  

-/-

The next two days follow the same routine of Emma and Henry carpooling with Killian to campus. Once Emma finishes with classes, she takes the bus to work where she’s on desk duty until her Bug is fixed, then commutes back to campus to pickup Henry before heading home once again via the bus. She seriously considers asking Killian for a ride home in the evenings as well, but she wants to retain some boundaries and pride.

The second day of their carpool routine, Killian has an orange juice for Henry and the usual coffee for Emma - (they compromise that she be the one to purchase refills at the library). He once again engages Henry in easy conversation, this time about Henry’s favorite villains, and is surprised to learn the lad has a soft spot for Loki also. He shares that his favorite villain is the infamous Captain Hook from _Peter Pan_ , which baffles Henry, and has Emma laughing at her son’s adorable nose that scrunches up in confusion at him.

“Captain Hook? But he’s so mean to Peter Pan!”

“Don’t let the Disney version of the tale fool you, lad. Pan was just as mean to the dear Captain.”

Emma laughs at Henry’s indignant face and turns back in her seat to face Killian, her brow raised in curiosity. “Captain Hook, seriously?”

Killian just grins and nods his head without taking his eyes off the road. “Aye love, quite the misunderstood villain. Why? Got a thing against pirates?” This last statement he says with a slight turn of his head and a wink.

Emma smirks in return, leaning in as close as she can whilst maintaining a respectable distance considering the middle console and Henry in the backseat. “Oh no, as a matter of fact I happen to _love_ pirates, more so than knights, or Asgardian warriors, or princes. Especially Jack Sparrow.”

Killian grunts indignantly at her teasing. “Surely not all princes? Also, there should be ‘captain’ in there, love.”

“Yeah _Captain_ Jack Sparrow!” Henry squeals delightedly in agreement from the backseat.

-/-

The third and last day of their carpool routine, Killian arrives with the usual coffee, milk for Henry, glazed donuts for him and the lad, and Emma’s cinnamon bear claw. As they wait for the car to warm up, the three of them reach toward the center console with their respected treats in hand and give a toast to it being Friday.

“It’s like we’re the Three Musketeers, only with donuts instead of swords!” Henry cheers from the backseat.

Emma’s heart seizes in her chest at his comment. The Three Musketeers implies the three of them are a unit, a team, a package deal. She’s both touched and terrified at the very thought, but the fear wins out as the bear claw begins to taste like chalk in her mouth and she has to force herself to swallow.

He’s attached. Henry has become attached to Killian, and she’s not sure what to think about it. It’s not lost on Emma how easy these past few days have been, how integrating Killian into her life outside of the library feels normal, good, even felicitous - (damn Mary Margaret and her stupid Jane Austin novels as traditional birthday presents).

And she can’t deny she’s long since become attached to Killian and their friendship. Not the unhealthy co-dependent sense of attachment, but rather she’s begun to develop strong feelings for him apart from simple friendship - (her obvious attraction to him aside). Yet despite their relationship and the almost kiss they shared, there is no guarantee Killian has become attached to them in return.

“Aye lad, the Three Musketeers. I’ll be Aramis.”

Killian’s comment yanks her from her thoughts. “No, we aren’t doing that.”

“Do what, love?” His voice is laced with surprise and trepidation, as if worried he’s crossed a line, and it gives her pause.

“Yeah Mom, what can’t we do?”

Sharply closing her eyes at Henry’s sweet innocence, Emma steals herself and whispers for Killian to put the car in gear. His brow lifts dubiously but he obliges without protest.

“In a minute buddy,” she calls over her shoulder to Henry.  

Once they’re safely on the road, she turns on the radio, eyebrows rising in surprise at the pre-set station – _Radio Disney_. Her expression is questioning as she turns toward him, but he simply glances in return, shrugging his shoulders. Unsatisfied, she turns up the volume on the radio in hopes they won’t be completely overheard by Henry.

“Killian, we are _not_ the Three Musketeers. You’ve barely known my kid all of two days and he’s already taken with you, but I can’t afford for him to get his hopes up,” she says under her breath, only just loud enough for him to hear over the cacophonous radio tunes.  

He steals another quick glance her way, long enough for Emma to view the affronted look coloring his face, before returning his attention to the road.

A pregnant pause lingers under the obnoxious teen pop song filling the car. Emma knows she’s hurt him, possibly angered him as well. She turns around in her seat, once again facing the road instead of him. Resigning herself to a silent car ride, she’s taken off guard by the sound of his confidently soft voice, curiously devoid of the anger or hurt she expected.      

“Perhaps I am taken with him as well. I certainly am with his mother.”

Emma’s breath hitches in her throat and she wills herself to look at him. He returns her gaze, a sheepish half smile on his face, before he gives her a nod and returns his attention back to the road.

“Killian…” She shakes her head slightly, taking a breath to calm her rapidly beating heart, “I’ve been fooled by pretty words before.”

“I know, Swan,” he swallows and his grip on the steering wheel tightens automatically, “but I don’t intend to let you, or your boy, down.”

They turn to each other once more - sincere yet hesitant blue, meeting unsettled but hopeful green. Emma has never been regarded like this before, as if she holds the power to make or break him. It’s a startling revelation, to know Killian truly cares and values their friendship and is as thoroughly attached to her and Henry as they are to him.

Resolving to take another leap of faith, to punch back and see herself differently, she places a hand on his shoulder and smiles assuredly. “I know, which is why I’m going to choose to see the best in you.”  

Smiling warmly in return, Killian pulls her hand from his shoulder and entwines their fingers, clasping her hand affectionately before resting their joined hands atop his knee, under the steering wheel. “And I with you.”

Emma allows herself to relax, no longer holding a rigid posture as she moves to lower the volume of the radio, keeping her hand firmly laced in his. The corners of her lips turn upward in a playful smirk as she asks, “So, Aramis? I see you as more of a Porthos, you know the whole dandy thing.”

“You wound me, Swan,” he replies in mock indignation.  

“You know Henry hasn’t read the book, right? It’s too advanced for his reading level. He’s only seen the Disney cartoon.”

Killian chuckles and looks in the rearview mirror, asking Henry which of the Disney Musketeers they all would be.

Henry pretends to seriously contemplate the question, index finger resting on his cheek and face upturned to the ceiling before exploding emphatically, “I’m Mickey, you’d be Goofy, and Mom would be Donald Duck!”

“I’m Donald Duck?” Emma gasps, mouth gaping in mock offense.

“I’m Goofy?” Killian asks in equal mock umbrage.

The duration of the car ride is filled with sounds of Henry’s laughter and their unsuccessful attempts at arguing their case against his choices. They continue holding hands the rest of the trip, including walking Henry to class and their trek to the library, only letting go once they reach their study alcove. They don’t ask questions and they don’t talk about it, simply content to enjoy the contact as both a balm and seal of the morning’s promises.

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for liking, reviewing, and commenting on this story! I’m so sorry for the wait, this chapter was a pain to edit but I’m mostly satisfied with the outcome. We are getting close to the big reveal, another chapter after this if everything goes as planned. Thank you for reading, and enjoy just in time for Thanksgiving!

(November)

Emma and Killian revert back to their old pattern following the week of their carpool, but it is clear things have shifted between them.

The easy banter and effortless conversations continue to flow, but with a current of vulnerability underlying their interactions. They begin texting one another throughout the day, no longer content for an hour’s worth of interaction weekday mornings. Each day they share a new part of themselves and Emma realizes Killian is slowly tearing down the walls she’s constructed around her heart. It should frighten her and provoke the instinctual urge to run, but instead, she is finding herself desiring it, wanting the intimacy and vulnerability. She trusts Killian, and though initially it was scary for her to admit it, she’s finding the realization easier to accept.  

As the month continues, Emma’s previous uncertainty about Killian getting too close to Henry dissipates as well. Killian asks about Henry, and Henry asks about Killian, and she takes it all in stride. The two have become ‘pals’ according to the both of them. When discussing Killian, Henry’s face erupts in joy and delight as expected with someone so young and impressionable, yet she’s thrown when seeing that same joy and delight mirrored in Killian when discussing Henry.

Unsurprising to either Emma or Killian, the now undeniable attraction between them still resonates though they don’t talk about it, instead, they choose to let it grow quietly, hidden behind harmless yet honest flirting. Signs of affection and hand holding become more frequent, soft touches become lingering touches, and quick glances become lingering gazes.

Still, Emma is resolute in her conviction they are simply ‘good friends.’ Killian doesn’t push or try and persuade her otherwise, simply content for whatever form of closeness she allows. Friends can be platonically affectionate – (even if she fervently tries to deny the sensation of butterflies at the slightest touch from him, or that he’s building a treasure cove of memories in his head for safe keeping).  

The one thing off the table is kissing - in any form. Killian knows how he feels about Emma; a kiss wouldn’t prove his feelings to either of them. For Emma, succumbing to the desire to kiss him would mean breaking that final barrier of _just friends_. As strong as the temptation is, she’s not willing to risk losing this unexpected friendship that has come to mean more than she ever imagined it could.

-/-

Before Emma realizes it, Thanksgiving is upon them. Without hesitation, she asks Killian about his plans in hopes he will join Henry and her in the annual Friendsgiving celebration David and Mary Margaret host every year. 

“I know you aren’t American, but you can’t live in America and not experience a proper Thanksgiving celebration complete with food disasters, football, and the Macy’s parade.”

“I’m honored, Swan. However I do not want to be an imposition.” Killian says, suddenly interested in the texture of the carpet, his ears turning an adorable shade of pink.

“You wouldn’t be, that’s why we call it _Friendsgiving_. Bring Robin along too, Henry is dying to see him again.”

They sit facing each other at the table in the alcove, Emma leaning slightly forward in her chair. She’s close enough if she wanted to, she could reach out and run her fingers through his dark hair. Instead, she settles for placing a hand on his forearm, gently squeezing his arm in reassurance – (while internally trying to ignore the feel of his muscles beneath his shirt).

Killian suddenly shifts his gaze back to her, a reproachable look on his face, and Emma freezes at the thought she’s upset or misread him somehow.

“Robin is a royal git. He cheated at that Pac Man game to get in Henry’s good graces, make no mistake about it.” Killian clenches his jaw in a show of petulance and Emma erupts in a fit of laughter, her fear of having upset him extinguished before it can fully bloom.

“Oh relax, you are still Henry’s favorite. Robin just rounds out the bases. Plus, you’re a crappy Pac Man player.” This time, she doesn’t hesitate to run her fingers through his hair at the nape of his neck. If he asks, she can make the excuse of soothing his wounded ego. He doesn’t have to know she’s secretly wondered how soft his hair is – (as imagined, very soft and smooth).

Killian makes a grunting noise, sticking his nose up in indignation as if he’s caught wind of a foul odor. “We’ll have a rematch after the Thanksgiving break, and then I’ll show you and the lad who the better Pac Man player is.”

“Whatever you say Jones,” Emma says with a beatific smile. “Now, what about Thanksgiving?” She moves to pull her hand away from the back of his neck when Killian catches her hand in his own, entwining their fingers.  

“Alright I’ll come, and I will even bring Robin if you are sure we will not be an imposition. Is there anything we may be able to contribute?” He rests their joined hands upon his lap, delight and gratefulness coloring his eyes at her unexpected invitation – (and the warm sensation of her fingers laced through his).

“Just yourselves,” she answers with a smile, squeezing their entwined hands in delight.

-/-

The morning of Thanksgiving is chaotic as usual in the Nolan household, twice over now there is a newborn. The turkey hasn’t completely defrosted from the night before, baby Leo refuses to be out of his mother’s arms, and one of the stovetop burners decided to crap out.

Emma is pouring herself a second glass of wine – (it may only be eleven in the morning, but she’s experiencing second hand stress from watching Mary Margaret and Elsa fuss about the kitchen) - when the doorbell rings. Her stomach flips upside down in a fit of nervous butterflies and she silently curses at the sensation.

“Ooh time to meet Emma’s mystery man!” Ruby shouts from her place on the couch next to Victor.

“Emma, you have a mystery man? That’s so cute!” Elsa’s younger sister, Anna, politely expresses while she attempts to chop walnuts at the kitchen counter.

“He’s not a _mystery_ man, he’s…” Emma exhales, rolling her eyes before continuing, “He’s a really good _friend_. So please, just be nice?”

“We are nice,” Kristoff, Anna’s husband, mumbles from his place on the floor by the couch, mouth full of cheese and crackers. Some snack refuse spills out of his mouth to which Sven, their spotted Great Dane, happily laps up.

Emma entwines her hands in a prayer position before gracefully flailing her hands about in a gesturing plea. “Yeah I know that, I just meant don’t… you know… don’t do what you all normally do… don’t interrogate him.”

“We do not interrogate!” August barks out in humorous umbrage from his place on the floor next to Kristoff, eyes affixed to the television. It is Thanksgiving tradition to “believe” the guys actually understand the football game playing out on the screen.

“Yeah offense! That’s personally offended! Offended? Offensive? Offensive,” Ruby tipsily decides, loudly mumbling in agreement.  

Emma turns away from her friends and makes her way to the door; mentally kicking herself for thinking this would be a good idea. She knows her friends are only teasing and will welcome Killian and Robin with open arms - even David, who is resolute in his surrogate-big-brother-overprotective role.

Still, this is a big step. She hasn’t brought a man to meet her friends since Walsh, and even though she and Killian are merely friends, him meeting everyone means he’s essentially meeting her family.

Killian knows about her history with David and Mary Margaret; she talks about them often enough. He knows she met them freshman year in college, a year after Henry was born. David and Mary Margaret were the first people who hadn’t judged her or her situation; instead they simply loved on her and Henry unconditionally, not out of pity. With Mary Margaret came her high school best friend, Ruby, and it was sophomore year when they all met and befriended Elsa, a junior transfer student. David met August freshman year as they’d been assigned dorm roommates. Becoming fast friends, the duo decided to rent an apartment sophomore year whereby they met Victor, another roommate who quickly became part of the gang.

Today shouldn’t be as monumental an occasion as she’s making it, but Emma can’t help feeling nervous. She wants her friends to like Killian, and she wants Killian to like them in return.  

Taking one final deep breath, Emma turns the knob and opens the door.

Instead of the butterflies being settled at the sight of him, they instantly kick up a notch as she stares, taking in his appearance. He’s smiling fondly at her, blue eyes accentuated by the darkness of his jeans and the charcoal gray of his fisherman sweater with a shawl collar.

Killian stands, unmoving and unaware of Emma’s staring, happily losing himself in her beauty. Her blonde tresses are braided with whisping bangs framing her face, a red basket weave sweater with a boatneck collar making her green eyes shine.

A few beats of silence pass – (noticeable to everyone but them) – before Robin clears his throat from behind Killian and gives the prince a helpful poke in the back, bringing him back to awareness.

“Hello there, Swan.” Killian’s voice is a sultry whisper and it’s enough for Emma to realize she’s been staring.  

Shaking off the embarrassed flush she feels creeping across her cheeks, Emma collects herself and takes a step back to let the men inside. “Hey, glad you both could come. I’m truly sorry about this…”

Killian’s brow lifts in curiosity but before he can ask, the question dies on his lips as a very exuberant brunette bull rushes him in an assaulting hug.

“Killian!” Ruby squeals loudly from behind his head. Killian’s eyes widen in surprise before lightly wrapping his arms around the gregarious brunette, his gaze locked with Emma’s in a bemused smile.  

Her arms wrapped around him in a bone-crushing hug, Ruby’s eyes fall upon an amused Robin standing by the door. Releasing her hold on Killian, she swiftly moves to engulf Robin in a similar bear-clenching hug. Robin takes it all in stride and softly chuckles as he returns Ruby’s welcoming embrace.

“Okay, Ruby let them breathe a moment, would you?” Emma says, placing her hand in the crook of Killian’s arm and giving him a gentle squeeze in apology for the over exuberant welcome. He simply smiles at her tenderly, blue eyes crinkling in delight.

Emma makes a round of introductions, an easy task considering the small size of the cozy apartment. She tries to protest as Killian and Robin offer David and Mary Margaret the wine and stout beer they brought for the occasion, but she refrains upon seeing her friends’ delighted faces. After several handshakes from the men, warm hugs from the girls, and a few pointed looks of assessment from August and David, everyone disperses back to their positions in the kitchen and living room.

Robin joins the men in the living room and partakes in the conversation about the football game, while Killian offers his assistance in the kitchen. Mary Margaret declines his offer, insisting he simply relax and enjoy his first experience of the American holiday. Emma produces a beer for him and barely joins him in a seat at the counter when Henry comes bursting downstairs. 

“Killian!”

“Henry!”

Killian stands and meets Henry halfway, bending down to scoop him up and twirl him around in the air, lifting him upside down before planting him on his feet.

Killian proceeds to prompt Henry with questions as Emma watches with fondness from where she sits at the island bar. At the soft clearing of a throat, she turns in her seat to face Mary Margaret.

The pixie bob cut mom arches her brow in a teasing question – _he does well with Henry huh?_ Emma simply shrugs in response and takes a small sip of wine as Killian and Henry race upstairs to play video games. She knows her ever-present smile isn’t lost on Mary Margaret (or herself).

-/-

Dinner is filled with easy conversation and praise to Mary Margaret for pulling off another amazing meal. As expected, her friends ask Killian and Robin all sorts of probing questions about Denmark, about how Killian met Emma, but both men take the inquisition in stride and respond happily. To Emma’s astonishment, David doesn’t ask to many interrogative questions and Ruby keeps the sexual innuendos to a minimum. There’s even a lively debate between the merits of European football versus the U.S.’s version of the sport, and which teams are this year’s prospective champions. Henry eventually gets bored with the grown up talk and leaves the table to play video games upstairs, taking Sven with him – a silent cue to Mary Margaret to hurry up with dispensing the desserts.

Dessert and coffee are served around the living room when Mary Margaret, ever the reverent hostess, decides to bring out the board games. August, the freelance writer, votes to play scrabble but the rest of the group quickly vetoes him. Elsa and Anna vote to play charades while David votes for a round of poker. Once it is put to a final vote, charades wins out and teams are chosen. It’s no surprise to Emma when Mary Margaret pairs her up with Killian.

Halfway through the second round of charades, Killian notices Emma’s cup of hot cocoa is empty and offers to refill it. Emma accepts and gets up from her seat to accompany him to the kitchen, only stopping to inform Elsa to play their turn for them.

“Quite a rowdy bunch for a holiday, huh? Hope we haven’t traumatized you and Robin too horribly.”

“Not at all, Swan. It’s been a lovely evening.” Killian says through a smile as he passes Emma her refilled cocoa mug and pours himself a cup.

“You’re too polite to say otherwise.” She takes a sip from her mug, sea green eyes teasing as she gazes into his cerulean blue depths in silent challenge.

Killian shakes his head but takes a step forward in response, effectively eliminating the distance between them, not once breaking her penetrating gaze. Emma’s breath hitches in her throat as he reaches out to wrap his hand around hers, brushing her knuckles lightly with his thumb.

For the first time in the evening they’re alone, but before they can take advantage of it, a loud “YES!” erupts from the living room, breaking the moment. They both spring apart from each other as the noise from the living room begins to penetrate the little bubble they’ve created.

“David that’s cheating!”

“Unbelievable!”

“I’m due for a refill, anyone else need one?”

Emma clears her throat and throws a thumb over her shoulder, “You want to step outside onto the porch? David and Mary Margaret have a fire pit…”

“Aye, sounds lovely, Swan.” He takes Emma’s mug in hand and follows her lead to the back porch.

Closing the sliding glass door behind her and turning her attention to the fire pit, Emma misses the wink Mary Margaret shares with Elsa, the delightful squeals of Anna, David’s overprotective frown, and Victor’s drunken attempt to join them that is happily thwarted by a scheming Ruby.

Emma and Killian silently work in tandem to get the fire pit blazing, all while studiously avoiding eye contact in the dim light of the porch and living room. The only sound is the chirping of insects and the muffled sound of their friends as another round of charades begins.

Her heart racing, Emma dusts off the residual soot from the wood and ash on her jeans and turns to face him.

He looks unnaturally real. The firelight turns his features sharper, the slight redness to his bearded scruff is gone and his eyes sparkle like dancing crystals.

“So…” She laughs softly, trying to cover up the awkward utterance of her voice. 

“So…” Killian laughs sheepishly in return, scratching nervously behind his ear.

For a minute, the pair is lost as to what to say or how to act toward the other – Emma, afraid to reveal her conflicting feelings, and Killian afraid to spook her by revealing his.

Recognizing Emma’s vulnerability and wanting to share a bit about himself as thanks for including him in her family traditions, Killian breaks the unusual silence between them.

“Thank you for inviting me and Robin to join in your family festivities, Swan. I cannot tell you what it means to me.” He briefly casts his eyes downward, not wanting the sadness of past scars to consume him in this happy moment. “It has been much too long since I have experienced any sort of… family dinner, much less a family holiday. Ever since my mother died when I was a lad, we simply stopped celebrating holidays.”

Emma reaches out and places her hand on his forearm from where they stand side by side, leaning against the porch rail, the fire roaring contently in the background, mugs of cocoa long forgotten.      

“What happened to her?” She asks cautiously, curiously.

“Cancer… ovarian.” Killian exhales and extends his arms, bracing himself away from the porch railing, his head tilted down, gaze fixed upon his boots.  

“Killian, I…”

“She always wanted a little girl, overrun by the two of us ‘brawling boys’ as she would say, but the cancer never gave her the chance. My brother, Liam, he and I never doubted our mother’s love and for all mum’s jesting she would tumble around with us, playing football or cricket in the yard right along side us. She had many duties in her… position, but she always put us first. Always.”

Emma smiles tenderly, attempting to swallow down the growing tightness in her throat that is itching her nose and threatening tears. “She sounds amazing, Killian.”

He nods his head appreciatively at the honesty of her words, a genuine but somber smile coloring his face, “Aye, she was amazing.” He pauses and straightens his posture in an attempt to lift his mood and regain some self-possession. An untroubled smile lifts the corners of his mouth in a shy smile, as he turns to look her in the eye, “Reminds me of you, the way you are with Henry, always putting him first.”

Emma turns her head away, tilting her chin abashedly. “Yeah well, I’m just doing the best I can, hoping I don’t damage him too horribly with my parenting skills.”

Killian knows she’s attempting to laugh the compliment off but he refuses to let her, not when it is the absolute truth. He’s aware there is much about Emma he doesn’t yet know, but he knows enough to discern when she erects walls to prevent herself from being overly vulnerable.

“I’m serious Emma, you are a wonderful mother.” Though his tone is adamant he is not forceful, merely determined for her to see the beautiful truth about herself.

Turning back to him, Emma blinks in response, frazzled he thinks so highly of her, _believes_ in her. If only he knew the truth - he may judge her, look at her with pity, use her history against her, or simply stop being her friend. The last person she was so forthcoming with was Walsh, and he used her revelation as a way to have power in their relationship, to build up his already over inflated ego, frequently hinting he had “rescued” her. 

Yet now, as she stares into Killian’s yearning blue eyes glistening in the firelight, takes in his obdurate but soft expression, she decides to take a chance and push past her fears.

Gathering her courage, Emma feels Killian’s hand cover hers, feels the gentle caress of his thumb across her knuckles in silent encouragement, steadying her. He nods his head slightly, a soft encouraging smile breaking across his serious canvas, and Emma lets herself go. 

“I almost wasn’t a mother… and I’m still learning how to be one. I never had parents.” Her breath hitches and the tears she’d been rigorously fighting back at hearing his story begin flowing down her cheeks. “I grew up an orphan, shipped around from foster home to foster home. You know I had Henry at nineteen, but you don’t know I almost gave him up too.”

Killian quirks his brow up in confusion, but continues to silently caress her knuckles with his thumb. He doesn’t want her to think for even a second that he would be affronted at hearing her life’s story.

Encouraged by his constant touch, Emma scrapes at her tears with her free hand and continues, “Neal and I, we weren’t exactly Jim Dear and Darling if that makes sense.” She breathes out a soft laugh and Killian’s lips quirk up in a small grin at her reference. “We were living on the run, no steady jobs, no place to call home except for the Bug. We stole at any given moment to survive and canvassed motels in wait of a vacated room so we could shower and clean before housekeeping arrived. It was… not an ideal situation for a child.” Emma grits her teeth and shakes her head at the troubling memory. “So, when I learned I was pregnant, I thought for a moment it would be our start, you know? Our child would be a new beginning for us.”

Killian unconsciously angles his head in apprehension, not for fear of what she will say next, but rather cold comprehension of where her story is headed. He knew Henry’s father abandoned Emma, but he assumed the father was unaware of the pregnancy. Furious, he laces his fingers with Emma’s and holds tight as her next words confirm his suspicions.

“I was so drunk in my own happiness at being pregnant, I didn’t read the signs. When I told Neal… in retrospect, he was more jittery and alert out of fear rather than happiness at the news.” Emma pauses and closes her eyes, composing herself to get through the memory. “Anyway, he mentioned an old job he’d done pilfering watches. He said if we were to recover the watches from where they were stashed at the train station, we could make enough cash to move and start fresh. I was so in love with him, so excited at the prospect of being a family that I jumped at the opportunity. I volunteered to collect the watches since he was already a suspect in the original crime, but I never thought…”

Her voice breaks at the memory, and she allows the years of suppressed anger and hurt at what Neal did to Henry - abandoning him before he was ever born - to expose her raw. “To save his own skin, Neal called in a tip and I was arrested, a full two months pregnant with our baby, with Henry…”

Killian doesn’t let her finish. He pulls her in, locking his arms firmly around her as she fiercely embraces him in return. He feels the vibrations of her sobs as they rack through her body, but he only holds her tighter, breathing in her scent and sharing his body warmth, silent tears spilling from his eyes at the pain she’s experienced and the depth of her sheer will to endure.      

Sniffling, Emma pulls back and pushes away from him slightly, both hands gripping his biceps in an effort to keep standing upright. “That’s not even the worst of it. I gave birth to Henry in a prison hospital and up until the _moment_ I decided to _hold_ him in my arms, I had been prepared to give him up for adoption.”

Killian doesn’t flinch; he grips her forearms and squeezes gently, holding her steady. Though the action is subtle, it is meant as a silent reaffirmation he will not push and will not leave.

Shaking her head vigorously, Emma releases her stance and takes another step back from him. Voice trembling in near hysterics she asks, “What kind of mother does that? To almost abandon her child and then choose to raise him with the knowledge that his mother was once a thief? Henry knows what little he can understand about how I grew up, and why I was in prison, but he doesn’t know the truth about his father and I never plan on telling him.” A hiccup escapes her throat and she once again brushes a hand over her cascading tears.

Taking a moment to collect herself, she whispers the question once more, “What kind of mother am I?”

Before responding, Killian takes a small step forward and hesitantly, lovingly, glides his index finger up and across her cheek to wipe away a fallen tear.

“The kind whose love for her child is greater than the love for herself. That elusive, unconditional, selfless kind of love - the only kind of love there is. You chose for Henry to have his absolute best, to have his highest good, that’s what makes you a damn good mother.”

Emma closes her eyes and involuntarily shutters at his words.

Killian takes another step forward, and with every ounce of conviction he has, gently cups her face in the palms of his hands and places a chaste, yet lingering kiss to her forehead.

He feels her expel a warm breath at his actions and he immediately worries he’s overstepped his bounds – (never wanting to disrespect her, he’s always followed her pacing and boundaries). Before he can step back and apologize, Emma wraps her arms around his waist, pulls him into a tight embrace, and buries her nose in the crook of his neck.

They stay enveloped together in silence, save for the sounds of their sniffling and the crackling of the fire. After a few minutes, they step back to compose themselves, each offering the other a shy smile as they wipe away remaining tear stains and dab at runny noses.  

“I don’t mean to upset you Emma, but I think we make quite the team.”

She laughs aloud mirthfully and the sound alone is music to his ears. “Yeah, I guess we do. Quite a pair of lost boys huh?”

“Perhaps once… but maybe not anymore.”

Before Emma can digest his words or the look of his tenderly ardent face, there’s a knock at the sliding glass door. They each jump at the noise, ruffled at the disturbance, but make their way over to Robin whose sliding the door open.

“Apologies, I don’t wish to disturb, but we best call it an evening mate. Thank you Emma, for inviting us to join your holiday tradition. It was a grand affair.”

Emma chuckles as she always does at Robin’s formality. “Of course, thank you guys for coming.”

They each make their way inside to find the rest of Emma’s friends getting ready to depart. There is a round of goodbyes, handshakes and hugs, and leftovers graciously saddled with everyone at Mary Margaret’s insistence.

Emma looks upon a sleeping Henry who is curled up on the couch and using Sven as a body pillow when Killian offers to help carry him to her vehicle. Happy to accept the offer, the trio and Robin make their way downstairs. Killian straps a sleeping Henry into a seatbelt while Robin loads the bag of leftovers and Emma starts the Bug.

“Alright there milady, you are set. Drive safely.” Robin teasingly bows before Emma and she chuckles once again at his antics, not knowing the truth behind them. He departs with a nod toward Killian, informing he’ll get their vehicle started and warmed up.

Killian makes his way around the Bug toward the driver’s side where Emma sits with the door closed but window rolled down. Placing his hands atop the vehicle’s roof, he leans forward and meets her gaze. “Thank you love, for this evening. Not only for allowing us to partake in the festivities, but for afterword.” He pauses and steps back, hands now resting on the doorframe as he leans in through the window, his gaze cast slightly down. “Thank you for listening. It’s been some time since I’ve spoken of my family and it… well it was overdue.”

“Killian, I…”

His eyes meet hers once more and shrugging her shoulders, she smiles, “Thank you for listening to my sad story. You know I don’t share much of myself with others, my life isn’t exactly a fairytale, but it’s my past, and truthfully? I’m sick of living in the past, no matter how much the future terrifies me.”

Emma is resolute in both tone and words, but they both know underneath her brave exterior, lies a lifetime of insecurity and fear that will not be extinguished by one cathartic moment. Still, she’s offering to brave through her trepidations, and Killian can only hope to brave through his own fears in return.  

“Aye love, of that I most certainly agree.”

He smiles and dips his head in a bow before taking a few steps back. Emma offers him a smile as she rolls the window up and moves the car into gear, waving her hand in goodbye as she drives away.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Killian turns and walks toward his vehicle all while doing his best to staunch down the guilt at letting another opportune moment to share his secret pass by.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kind comments and reviews! I’m having so much fun with this story and I’m glad others are enjoying it too. So this chapter update was supposed to be longer, but editing took a backseat to life so the big reveal will have to wait one more update. I’m sorry for keeping y’all waiting and I do plan on updating soon. In the meantime, hope you enjoy this holiday piece!

(December)

Emma awakes early despite her intention to sleep in. Having finished her last final of the semester the previous day, Henry visiting at Neal’s, and Killian overseas, she should have taken advantage and continued sleeping. But it is only two weeks until Christmas and she needs to stop procrastinating and find a tree. 

She and Henry had decorated the apartment sparingly throughout the month, with stockings, nutcrackers, garland and snowmen, but they still lacked the customary Christmas tree.

Emma was simplistic and she’d been content with the artificial, Charlie Brown sized tree she’d been using since Henry was born. But after being tipped over for the last time by Henry’s rambunctious driving of Hot Wheels the previous year, the Charlie Brown tree had met its fate. Thus, it was time for a new tree. Perhaps something a bit larger, with frosted tips, and definitely something pre-lit, as she’s never tangled with lighting a tree before.

Emma turns on her old stereo system and proceeds to make a cup of hot cocoa with cinnamon and marshmallows - (her breakfast for the day). As the dulcet but merry tones of Crosby fill the kitchen space, she leisurely dances around in her candy cane striped socks, wishing that Henry were home so he could happily dance alongside her.

Neal will not have Henry for Christmas, that had been firmly established, and she is ready to swing and jab should Neal ask, as he inevitably will. So while Henry may be away now, Emma takes comfort knowing she will be the one to have him home for the holiday, all hopped up on Christmas cookies and screaming with childlike glee as he opens presents.

Checking the Internet for price listings of the local Christmas tree markets proves more difficult than Emma anticipates. Two hours into the search and she doesn’t find anything to her liking in her price range. She’s beginning to consider chucking the whole plan and driving to the nearest Wal-Mart to buy yet another artificial Charlie Brown tree when her phone buzzes.

_Enjoying your first day of break? KJ_

Emma smiles into her hot cocoa with marshmallows. With Killian away overseas in Denmark, she wants to keep her mind from wandering to thoughts of him during the break - keep her heart from wandering to feelings she long since vowed to never feel again. Repeating her mantra of ‘just friends’ hasn’t been working as well as it used to, no doubt because her feelings for him are becoming harder to ignore. Killian is her friend, simple as that, she can’t allow herself to become something more to him or to feel anything more for him.

He is supposed to be in Denmark visiting family for the holidays, and since she can’t afford long-distance minutes on her phone, she won’t be talking to him until the start of the semester. There was always Skype, as he suggested, but Emma couldn’t bring herself to agree. She didn’t tell him, but it wasn’t the juggling of different time zones that unnerved her. It was the prospect of talking to him everyday, even if through the computer, that made her feel anxious with feelings not appropriate for that of only friends. No, she resigned herself to accept the time apart and embrace it.

So what was he doing texting her?

_Didn’t you take the red-eye to Copenhagen yesterday? I shouldn’t and can’t be texting you... even if you are laid over in Paris. ES_

The song on her old stereo system switches and damn if it isn’t Nat King Cole’s “Oh Christmas Tree.” Screw it, she has to vent to somebody and Killian is evidently available. As she types out her response, she ignores the flutter in her stomach and the way her mind immediately pictures Killian’s scruffy face and piercing gaze.   

_I know I promised Henry I would have a tree up and ready to decorate by the time he returned from Neal’s, but I can’t find anything! The trees are too small, too skinny, or not tall enough! And I haven’t even planned how I’m going to manage hauling the damn tree in my Bug, let alone up the stairs to my apartment. I’m about to pack it in and head to Wal-Mart! ES_

Venting session accomplished, Emma throws her phone down on the kitchen table and takes a sip from her second cup of cocoa. If this fruitless search continues, she is going to need to switch to coffee, or fuck it - wine.

_Ah about that, made arrangements for tonight’s red-eye instead. KJ_

Emma frowns at her phone but before she can type a reply, she receives another message.

_As for Christmas trees, I believe I can help with that. KJ_

_Don’t know about that Jones, I’m quite picky. ES_

_Oh I’m well aware of how picky you are darling, but you’ll have to trust me on this. Worked well once before did it not? KJ_

Emma snorts at that. Trusting Killian all those months did work well indeed. If she hadn’t allowed herself to trust him by accepting that first cup of coffee in the library, she wouldn’t have him in her life as a friend. Killian wouldn’t be someone who is getting under her skin, and not in the annoying sense, but in the she can’t stop thinking about him when she’s supposed to be sleeping sense.

_Okay Jones, I’ll bite. How can you help me in my Christmas tree debacle? ES_

_Just need you to open the door Swan, and tell me where I should place this evergreen. KJ_

Emma drops her phone at the same time she hears a loud knock on her front door. He can’t be serious?

“Hello Swan,” Killian says gleefully once she’s swung open the door in greeting.  

For a minute all Emma can do is gape at him with her mouth open, pupils wide, eyebrows reaching her hairline. She finally stammers, “What… I mean what?” as she gestures to the pine-needled tree that appears to be swallowing Killian, as if the evergreen decided to absorb him as part of its essence.

“This? Well…” Killian keeps his eyes on Emma as he angles his head away from the spruce and flashes a crooked grin, “I knew how much you needed a Christmas tree for the lad and Kristoff mentioned at Thanksgiving his family’s ranch caters to the local tree markets.”

He makes to move but winces as a branch strikes him in the face and Emma can’t stifle her laughter at the sight. “Right well, as amusing as this must be to you Swan, rest assured laughing at a good gesture is indeed bad form.”

Emma laughs harder at his reprimand but steps back and swings the door open wide for him. As Killian steps through the threshold, huffing and puffing at the weight and awkward angle of the tree, she realizes this is the first time he is actually entering her apartment.

There had been occasions when Killian had come by her apartment and walked her to the front door, such as when she couldn’t drive herself home from the bar - (passing that Shakespeare essay deserved celebratory tequila shots) - and when for three days straight they carpooled when her Bug was in the auto shop - (German engineering her ass). But even on those occasions he’d never actually entered her apartment, mostly due to her desire to maintain some boundaries, especially since he was slowly chipping away at her walls. So for a brief moment the alarm bells ring in her head, but she uncharacteristically ignores them and decides to delight in the moment.  

“Where will it be Swan?” Emma blushes at the sound of his accent, somehow thicker from under the brush of the evergreen’s branches.

She closes the front door and motions to the spot by the living room windows, next to the fireplace. “Just there will be fine.”

Twenty minutes and one dash to his vehicle later, Killian places the Christmas tree in the stand and tests the various angles, beaming in delight as Emma confirms it’s perfect.

Stepping away from the tree he goes to stand beside her. The evergreen stands seven feet tall with a plump and robust middle, with enough space from atop the tree to the ceiling for a star. Killian continues to beam with pride as he basks in the knowledge that he has met his Swan’s Christmas tree specifications.

“It’s beautiful Killian. How did you manage this?” Emma finally looks away from the tree to study her generous friend’s face.

“Come Swan, I’ve been listening since Thanksgiving break about your worries of finding a new tree. I’ve also heard you fret about not wanting to disappoint Henry with yet another artificial, and may I say _despicable_ tree. Really Swan, artificial Christmas trees? I’ll never understand you Yanks.”

Killian shakes his head in admonishment as Emma puffs her cheeks up in indignation. Sensing a retort coming he quickly continues, “I made a call to Kristoff and explained your tree situation. He was more than happy to help. His family’s ranch had plenty of spruces to choose from.”

Emma arches her brow at him in disbelief. “You picked the tree and chopped it down by yourself?”

Killian scratches behind his right ear, a gesture Emma now associates with him being nervous or weary. “Aye, well Kristoff did help, as did Robin. Took a good trek into the ranch’s acreage but we managed with a snowmobile and sled. Then all it took was us hauling the evergreen and strapping it to the hood of my vehicle.”

Emma can feel her face morphing into a picture of astonishment but she can’t help it, her friend has done something amazingly kind and all for her. “You did all that, all this…because of me?”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself love. I did it _for_ you, to help calm your anxieties, which were rightly felt, Christmas trees are no small matter. I assure you it sounds a tedious process but it was indeed no trouble at all. It was rather quite fun to be honest.” Killian smiles and bounces on the balls of his feet, his hands shoved in the front pockets of his jeans. “Plus, if it spares poor Henry an atrocious, and I do mean atrocious artificial tree, than my job is complete.”  

Emma shakes herself and returns her attention to the Christmas tree so as to hide the creeping blush quickly spreading across her cheeks for the man who is becoming more than just a friend. This small gesture, which is indeed no small matter, is more than anyone has ever done for her. “It’s perfect Killian, thank you.”

“You’re most welcome Swan.” He gives a short bow and flashes her a pearl white smile.

Killian knows he has taken a huge risk to their friendship with the gesture, what with Emma being skittish and fearful to trust, but he cares for her and wants her to have her heart’s desire. But he doesn’t want to push her or overstay his welcome. As he takes a step back to make his exit, he is stopped by Emma’s hand on his arm.  

“Would you like to stay for lunch?” she asks with a tentatively shy smile. A part of her reasons she shouldn’t ask him to stay, but another part is overwhelmed by his generosity and thoughtfulness. The least she can do is feed him a decent meal before he departs. “I made a vat of chili yesterday to last the weekend if you’re interested.”

Killian’s cerulean eyes light up his face and Emma’s stomach tugs with nerves as she digests his rosy cheeks and rumpled hair, of which stray strands of pine needles have taken up residence.

“Sounds delightful, love.”

Emma offers Killian a beer and sets about warming the pot of chili and together they chop the necessary vegetables to use for toppings. As they prep their lunch, they chat and swap stories of Christmas’s past. Some stories are funny tales of his childhood - him and his brother Liam playing Ninja Santa. Other tales are more somber - her holidays in the foster system, hiding out in a closet with a flashlight and Dickens, understanding at far too young an age the story of Man’s Ignorance and Want 

Halfway through their second round of beer, and after his second serving of chili, they move themselves to the couch to watch a movie.

“Swan, _Die Hard_ is the ultimate Christmas movie! It’s a tradition!”

“Guns and explosions are not Christmas! Now _It’s a Wonderful Life,_ though the title may be the most honest of a lie there ever was, that film is the ultimate Christmas movie.”

“Settle for _Jingle All the Way_?”

“Schwarzenegger, really?”

Emma finally notices the clock halfway through their second movie pick – _The Santa Clause_. She tries to ignore the feeling of disappointment as she realizes Killian will need to be leaving soon else he miss his flight. But she also can’t ignore her feelings of contentment sitting side by side on the couch with him, nestled under the fleece blanket, his arm draped ever so carefully across her shoulder. She pretended not to notice his position at first, but sometime during the first movie she nestled herself further into his side, allowing her head to rest comfortably on his chest, and feeling his fingers caress up and down her arm.

They were honest to God cuddling. Emma Swan didn’t do cuddling, but she was cuddling with Killian Jones and reality was setting in.

She moves out of his embrace and stretches her arms in the air above her head, letting out a yawn. Killian startles a little, surprised by her movement and unsure if he has overstepped his bounds by holding her so affectionately, but as he sees the sleepy grin spread across her face his rapidly beating heart calms.

A quick glance at his wristwatch speaks a truth he wants desperately to ignore.

“I best be getting on. Robin will be waiting for me. Don’t want to miss our flight and anger dear old Dad.” Killian tries to play his comment off with a laugh as he stands, but one look at Emma signals she knows how difficult this trip will be for him, and he need not play it off with humor. Once again he marvels at how perceptive she is, even without knowing his complete truth.  

“It will only be three weeks and then you’ll be back state side. Don’t let him get under your skin. You’re smart and capable, and he should be proud.” Emma joins him in standing and takes his hand in hers, squeezing his fingers for good measure.  

“Aye lass, but Brennan Jones is a force to be reckoned with.” Killian drops his gaze from hers and swallows. To say this trip will be difficult is an understatement. Although his father is ill, there is no stopping the verbal tirades that await him once he returns home. Shaking himself, he plasters on a grin and returns her gaze.

Emma knows this grin, the one he wears when he’s trying to deflect, but she lets it slide as he continues, “At least I won’t have to worry about you having a proper Christmas tree for yourself and the lad.”

Emma huffs and squeezes his hand tighter. She wants to fight him on this, to make him realize he is worth so much more than the crap he’s been spoon fed by his father. Although she never had a Dad, from the little she does understand about fathers, is the man who controls Killian’s life certainly isn’t meeting the definition of a ‘loving’ father.

But she knows nothing she can say will reach him. Their friendship, unique and strong despite the short time it has been, isn’t enough to squash a lifetime of feeling inferior - of feeling like he will never measure up. She should know. As much as their friendship is bringing her happiness, and also simultaneously scaring the crap out of her, it hasn’t been enough to completely snuff out her inner demons.

So instead of challenging him, Emma simply nods her head and walks him to the door.

“Thank you again Killian. Henry will love the tree. I’ll be sure to send you a picture once we decorate it.”

“Aye that would be lovely, lass. I’d love nothing more than to see it, but don’t trouble yourself with the expense.”

Emma shrugs her shoulders. The last three months she has been fighting with herself about what she and Killian are becoming, about what they are to each other. But now, standing toe to toe with him, her belly full and spirit warm, with the scent of pine in the air she can admit Killian has solidified a place deep within her heart as a best friend, maybe as something more if she would just allow herself the freedom to fully feel.    

“Try and enjoy your trip Killian. I’ll see you when you get back, and don’t forget my post card.”

Killian chuckles, “Aye Swan, I shan’t forget your coveted post card from merry old Copenhagen.” Of all the things she asked he bring her and Henry from his trip – (his way of finding a Christmas present for her without labeling it as such) – she had requested a simple post card. She would never cease to astound him.

Emma attempts to give him a withering glare but stops herself as she takes in his mischievous grin – this is his signature teasing grin, the one she prefers to the grin of self-deprecation and deflection.

And then she is throwing herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and clinging tightly to him in a fierce hug. It’s barely a second before she feels the warmth of his arms wrap tightly around her waist in return, his head dipping into the side of her neck. Emma breaths deeply as she feels the softness of his leather jacket underneath her fingertips, feels the faint scruff of his beard on her cheek and smells the strong yet soft scent of pine on his neck.

“Goodbye Killian. Have a safe flight.”

Killian caresses her soft blonde tresses and basks in her scent of cinnamon and cocoa. He can feel her curves as he presses himself tighter against her, clinging to her as if he will never get the chance to hold her like this again. He may very well never get the chance if everything he fears of this trip comes to fruition.

The thought brings about a realization. Although they have certainly embraced before, including lingering touches and teasing glances, they have never embraced as fiercely as this save for the night of Thanksgiving, when all they had was each other amongst the demons. However, unlike that night, this feels as if they are both afraid to leave the other, afraid of what lay ahead for them, but certain where they want to be is in each other’s arms.

He is sure mere friends do not embrace with this much passion, but he doesn’t want to over think it. Despite his own feelings, he has always followed Emma at her own pace, never pushing her, respecting her boundaries while gently prodding when appropriate. Tonight, it feels appropriate to prod just a little more.

With one last gentle squeeze he takes a step back from their embrace, cups her chin in his slightly trembling hand, and with a steely resolve kisses her sweetly and innocently on the cheek. If his lips lingered on her soft appled cheek for longer than a moment, well then he lingered.

“Goodbye, Emma. Have a Happy Christmas.”

He turns away from her and forces himself to walk in a straight line down the hallway. Blood is pounding in his ears and his heart may pound itself right out of his chest. It takes all his strength and self-preservation not to turn around, wrap Emma in his arms, and kiss her senselessly. He silently curses himself for risking his precious friendship with her all because he gave into an impulse - an impulse to kiss his brilliant, beautiful, spirited friend.

But if Killian had turned around, he would have seen Emma standing rigidly still, her face colored with surprise and curiosity, as she slowly traces the ghost of his lips upon her cheek.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the overdue update. This is the last chapter before the big reveal. I realized when writing that chapter that Emma had to reveal her feelings for Killian to herself first. Please forgive any grammar errors or other mistakes. As always, thank you all for reading, liking, and commenting!

(December) 

As the brigade of sleek black Mercedes pulls up to the private entrance of Killian’s winter home – the Amalienborg palace – he can’t help but blow out a puff of air in exhaustion. The eight-hour red eye flight was just long enough to drain his energy; he really isn’t in the mood for the time difference, his brutish father, or his father’s tyrannical advisor, Regina. 

Stepping out of the vehicle, Robin gives him a slap to the shoulder. “Cheer up mate, we won’t be home long. Might as well try and enjoy the short time we have here.”

“Easy for you to say,” Killian grumbles under his breath as he takes in the view of his family’s palace, aptly named after his long lost ancestor Frederick VIII. The royal family’s private residence is the only one of the four lavish palaces of Amalienborg that is off limits to the public. Even still, it’s not hard to miss the noise and cacophony of citizens and tourists that visit the exquisite castle throughout the year.

Squaring his shoulders, Killian begins the short trek across the drive to his family home. He feebly attempts to ignore the pestering voice in his head incredulously asking how in hell Emma will ever accept all this pomp and grandeur – _she won’t, you are not worth it_.    

“There you two are. It’s about time.”

Killian freezes in his tracks and cringes at the sound of the brisk, clipped voice from behind him. Standing a few feet from one of his home’s many entrances, he rolls his eyes heavenward and does his best to plaster on a smile before turning around to face his father’s most revered advisor. “Lovely to see you too, Regina,” he says in a poor attempt at polite niceties.

“Regina! How are you there, darling?” Robin says with an over eager bow, stealing a kiss of Regina’s hand.

Regina rolls her eyes at Robin’s obvious flirting – (though they both know she secretly enjoys it) - before continuing in her normal operating piqued voice, “Enough with the false pleasantries. Killian, your father is waiting to see you in his chambers. I warn you not to aggravate the man, he is on an oxygen tank and it does little to help calm his temper.”

“Might I fetch myself a cup of espresso first?” Killian asks honestly, doing his best to look innocent, hands inside his pockets and batting his lashes. Besides an obvious attempt at stalling the reunion with his father, he genuinely needs some caffeine to keep functioning. If he were back home in Storybrooke he would be asleep in bed - probably dreaming about Emma, but that is beside the point.  

Regina simply rolls her eyes at the prince. “Fine, I’ll radio Martha to have it ready upon your arrival in the kitchen. Make it quick your Highness.”

Killian nods his head in agreement and takes off towards the kitchens. 

“So m’lady, what news of the palace since we’ve been gone?” Robin asks, his tone one of flirtatious interest.

“You mean to tell me you haven’t been checking your email?” She gives him an exasperated look before sharply turning on her heel to head in the opposite direction of the prince.

Robin jogs to catch up and loops his arm through hers in an attempt to escort her to her destination. “Now where would be the fun in that? I’d much rather get all the news and gossip straight from the woman in charge!”

Regina glares at him in response but allows him to accompany her. Secretly, the raven haired advisor misses Robin’s scruffy features and flirtatious banter, but he doesn’t need to know that.

-/-

Killian managed to coax Martha into preparing a second cup of espresso while he downed the first cup. Not hard to do, considering their mutual adornment of each other. Throughout his childhood, Martha was his favorite person in the household. She was always ready with fresh pastries and second helpings to keep him and Liam ‘growing up strong.’ Try as she may though, no amount of her love and care could protect him and Liam from the cold distance of his brutish father once his mother passed. Still, Killian will always be thankful for Martha’s motherly spirit and affections, especially her caffeinated encouragement.

“If my espresso does not boost your energy, nothing on this planet will. Best of luck m’boy, you will surely need it.”

“Thank you, Martha.” Killian places a soft kiss upon her wrinkled cheek as he exits the kitchen and turns toward the direction of his father’s private suites.    

Stepping up to his father’s doors and offering up the empty espresso cup to a nearby butler he doesn’t recognize, Killian does his best to steal himself for the inevitable conversation. Too anxious to allow the butlers to open the doors for him, Killian takes one final deep breath and yanks open the doors only to pause at the unrecognizable sight in front of him.

His father, the king, is resting on a four-poster bed, an oxygen tube laced through his nostrils and a heart monitor machine beeping rhythmically at the bedside. The bed, normally made up promptly following the king’s awakening, is littered with papers. The usually barren nightstand is home to several pill bottles, water glasses, and hopefully empty teacups.

Killian drinks in the scene with curiosity and confusion. He has never seen his father look so pale and gaunt. His father’s cheeks are hollow, his eyes are tinged yellow, and even though he wears a robe, it does nothing to hide his emaciated form.

In an instant, Killian remembers his mother and brother and he is overcome with immense guilt for his jaunt to America. He should have been home, taking care of his father, helping out with matters of parliament and the rest.

“Ah the prodigal son returns.”

Ignoring the jab, he walks to his father’s bedside and takes a seat. He can be civil with the ailing man during his short time home. “Hello, father. How are you feeling?”

“Oh fine, fine -” the king says before being interrupted by a coughing fit. The machine begins to blare an obnoxious sound and a nurse whom Killian hadn’t initially seen upon entering the room, comes over and pushes a few buttons. The incessant beeping comes to a halt and his father’s coughing subsides as he shakes away the nurse from adjusting his oxygen tube. “Leave it, I am alright. I am alright.”

The nurse backs away with her head bowed, and Killian muses however long the poor nurse has been employed, it certainly has not been long enough for her to brave the temper of the king - typical of the ill bastard.

“She was only trying to help father.” Killian explains as he attempts to wipe away saliva from around his father’s mouth with a tissue.

“I may be dying but I am not an invalid. I do not need assistance at every bloody hour of the day.” He bats Killian’s hand away and pushes himself up higher against the pillows at his back.

Swallowing down his frustration, Killian simply nods his head and remains silent. If he remains respectfully quiet long enough and acquiesces to his father, perhaps this encounter will end faster and he can return home to Emma sooner rather than later.  

“Regina tells me things continue to be going well with you. No tabloid gossip here or in the states. That is good, that is very good.”

Gritting his teeth, Killian nods his head. For the last few years, since attending BC at Storybrooke, he’s been peacefully secluded from the prying eyes of the paparazzi. No scandals – (no access to nightclubs, cheap booze, and easy women to drown out painful memories) - to report in a sleepy college town of Massachusetts.  

“The royal family’s name is no longer being besmirched by your philanderer ways and you are soon to graduate with your final degree in five very short months. I want you, Killian, to use this break from school as a means of getting reacquainted with your royal duties. Following graduation, you shall come home to Copenhagen and we can finally transition you through coronation. My time is up my boy, but I can hold out a little while more to see you crowned king.”

Killian’s lungs constrict and his heart misses a beat. Coronation? Already? He knew his father was ill, knew he would soon be graduating and come into the crown in the next few years but bloody hell, months? He isn’t ready for it. He isn’t ready to give up his life, to give up Emma and Henry.  

“Father, surely I am not yet prepared to take the crown. Surely -”

“Nonsense! You need some polishing yes, but you are ready and you _will_ be crowned king of Denmark in May.” Another coughing fit erupts from his father so Killian reaches across the nightstand to hand him a glass of water. After a few sips the king continues, “The arrangements have all been finalized. Regina shall help you every step of the way, and I expect you to heed her advice throughout the process. She shall continue in her lead advisory position with you as king. She can be a tremendous resource my boy, do take care not to piss her off more than you usually do, aye?”

Killian nods his head in agreement, the outward picture of dutiful heir to the throne, but internally he’s thrashing around, trying to process everything his father continues to impress upon him. His ears begin to ring, his pulse quickens, and he forcefully grits his teeth to prevent from screaming aloud.  

Within the span of minutes his future, which had always been abstract and distant, has now become his present reality. All it took was one short conversation with his father – (as always) - for his entire world to implode.

-/-

As the holiday break continues with Killian away in Denmark, no homework to pour into, and work slowing to a crawl, Emma becomes increasingly irritated at how slow time is passing.

Of course she wouldn’t trade this time she has with Henry, going on daily adventurous activities around town and soaking up all of their mother-son bonding. And of course she is grateful for the rest and time with friends, but as the days progress she is keenly aware something, or rather, _someone_ is missing – Killian.

She itches to check her phone for a text message from Killian but refrains when she remembers, reluctantly, it was her decision not to keep contact over the break. Once more, she tosses her cell phone to the side and glares daggers at the television, as if her impatience can be blamed on Carry Grant and Deborah Kerr.

“You know, it couldn’t hurt to send a quick message letting him know you’re thinking about him. It is the holiday season and last I checked, they do celebrate Christmas in Denmark.” Mary Margaret says acerbically, eyes affixed to the screen as she digs into the bowl of popcorn perched atop her lap.

Emma averts her glare from the television screen to her overly optimistic friend. Mary Margaret meets her gaze with a pointed look and shrugs nonchalantly in return.  

“I still don’t understand why you insisted you two not talk while he’s away. Not even Skype?” Ruby says as she plucks a beer from the fridge and makes her way back to the living room. “You do realize that pesky rule probably hurt him, right?” She adds as she flops onto the armchair haphazardly, legs hanging over the armrest, attention decidedly on Emma and not the Italian vista gracing the television screen.

Emma grits her teeth in annoyance. When David offered to take Henry to see the latest Lego movie, she decided to have the girls over for a holiday movie marathon – ( _An Affair to Remember_ hardly qualifies as a holiday movie, but she was outnumbered due to Ruby arriving late) – but now she’s suddenly regretting it with all the talk about Killian.

“He didn’t seem hurt by it,” she mumbles from behind her beer before taking an overly large bite of popcorn. Emma deliberately chomps down in a show of petulance, not wanting to admit she’s in the wrong, even though she is.

“Unless he was hurt and you simply chose to ignore it, too scared to wonder about the emotion behind it.” Elsa chimes in, refilling her wine glass.

“Elsa,” Emma says in a warning tone, “you are a pulmonologist not a psychiatrist. Stop with the psychoanalysis.”

“Technically, we do all areas of study in medical school before specializing and I happen to have loved our psych component.” Elsa takes a sip of chardonnay and glances around the room only to be met with three pairs of eyes giving her the ‘spare me’ look. “Okay you’re right, that was pretty blunt of me. I’m sorry, Emma, you know I love you. I just see how happy you’ve been since Killian has come into your life and I don’t want you to run away from that, from him.”

Emma attempts to respond but is interrupted by Mary Margaret and Ruby’s in unison and emphatic, “Exactly.” Tilting her head in exasperation, Emma lifts her brow in silent acquiescence for her infuriating friends to continue.  

“Come on Emma, you have feelings for him, we all can see it,” Mary Margaret expresses in her commanding teacher voice, “and Killian has feelings for you too. I mean, look at this beautiful tree!” She takes a sharp inhale of the evergreen and smiles dreamily, “It even smells of Christmas! A tree this beautiful must have cost him plenty. A gesture like this is not something a mere _friend_ would do.”

So it was going to be holiday movie night with a side order of lecturing. Bloody fantastic. (Yeah, totally ignoring her use of Killian’s colloquial phrasing, that doesn’t mean anything at all.)

“Plus, you can’t ignore how taken he is with Henry. Killian truly loves your kiddo and Henry loves him just as much. I’m not sorry to break it to you, but it genuinely appears and feels to be real with the man.” Ruby adds from her perch on the oversized armchair.

Emma gazes upward praying for some relief, but try as she might, her friends words linger in the air and repeat in her head. Even if she could dispute the idea, everything they’ve said is exactly what she has been trying and failing to ignore for months, but she can’t ignore the truth any longer.

Ever since Thanksgiving, she hasn’t been sleeping well, too wrapped up in her unspoken emotions to get a decent night sleep. She and Killian have shared so much of themselves, personal and guarded self-disclosures she never thought she’d share with anyone ever again. She _knows_ Killian and he _knows_ her in return. Somehow, inexplicably, he has broken down her walls and she has made a place for him in her heart.

Despite the fact Killian will return in a few weeks when classes resume, she misses him and aches to talk with him, laugh with him, spend time with him. She wants to know how his visit back home is going, how he’s getting along with his father. She wants to be there to offer him support and comfort.

Gaze still turned upward, Emma closes her eyes and silently admits to herself a truth she’s been ruminating on that is long past over due – she is in love with Killian Jones.

She sits up and slams her beer bottle down on the coffee table in frustration, mentally kicking herself for deciding not to keep in touch over the break.

“Shit, I’ve fucked up.”

Ruby snorts from across the room and lifts her beer in a toast, “You got that right.”

Mary Margaret rolls her eyes at Ruby but faces Emma with an encouraging look. “Emma, what exactly are you saying?” She asks curiously, hope evident in her tone and posture.  

Emma swallows and shuts her eyes before answering. The butterflies that have taken permanent residence in her belly swirl again at the memory of every conversation with Killian, every penetrating look, every joyful smile, every boisterous laugh, every comforting touch, and every shared tear. Her heart achingly wants as she reflects on Killian’s straightforwardness with Henry, from his humorous jokes and playfulness, to his gentle but stern guidance with Henry only after first turning to her for permission.

“Emma?” Elsa gently prompts.

Emma exhales and opens her eyes, a tentative smile forming across her face. “I’m saying I’ve been a fool about Killian.” A tear she hadn’t realized was forming falls from her eye and she gently swipes it away, her smile more pronounced as she softly announces, “I’m in love with him.”

Laughter abounds in the room, pillows are thrown in the air, and Emma gives into the cheer of it all, laughing as she once again declares, “I am in love with Killian Jones!”

Squeals of delight and laughter turn into shouts of “Thank God!” and “About time!” and of course Ruby’s “Halle-fucking-lujah!”

The four women settle into the night, the movie long forgotten but drinks continuously refilled, as Emma finally allows herself to open up about her feelings for Killian, starting of course with that first fateful day in rain soaked clothes and a crappy cup of coffee.

-/-

For the rest of Killian’s visit, he’s bombarded with rules, regulations, protocol and the like. His father, Regina, and other advisors and members of parliament, ceaselessly list off and instruct him on the demands and requirements expected of him as king.

As the weeks drag on, he becomes a shell of himself. Rarely does he get a moment alone to think, to breath, to punch a whole through a wall. Purple bags begin to form under his eyes as sleep becomes non-existent. He rarely eats save for political lunches and dinners where it would be improper not to partake in the meal. He struggles to remain present and aware throughout diplomatic meetings, royal appearances, and photo ops, his mind constantly drifting to thoughts of Emma and Henry.

After one particular grueling meeting with parliament at the Christiansborg palace, Killian decides he’s had enough and leaves for a desperately needed respite. As Killian and Robin make their way down Nørregade to visit one of their old favorite pubs, blinding flashes of light derail them.    

Although he’d been accustomed to being hounded by paparazzi – whether leisurely strolling through the city, attending a political function, or during nights of wild partying and debauchery - the unexpected onslaught still catches him off guard.

“Prince Killian! Where have you been Prince Killian?”

“Prince Killian! Any new women in your life, your Highness?”

“How do you feel about the upcoming coronation, Prince Killian?”

With Robin in the lead, Killian pushes his way through the swarm of cameras and bodies. Vision speckled with dots and heart racing, he silently curses himself for not taking better precaution before stepping out, the anonymity and subdued pace of Storybrooke having spoiled him.    

“Where will you be clubbing this evening your Highness?”

“Prince Killian, what do you think of being crowned king?”

Before Liam’s death, Killian quietly accepted the paparazzis presence and handled them with ‘good and respectful form’ as his brother demonstrated. After Liam’s death, dealing with the paparazzi depended on Killian’s mood, good form be damned. He either ignored their presence, too stoned or sleep deprived to care, or he partook in physical scuffles if the desire to throw down arose after one too many drinks. On more than one occasion, the royal family paid retribution for Killian decking reporters and breaking cameras. But now, after years of being out of the public eye and having the privilege of privacy, the swarm of bodies and cameras is suffocating.

Camera flashes continue to blind Killian mercilessly as he and Robin struggle to make their way toward their vehicle at the end of the block, when one question in particular makes Killian stumble over his feet.  

“What would _Prince Liam_ say about the coronation, think he would have been _disappointed_ just like the rest of us? After all, it should have been him.”

Killian stops in the middle of the onslaught, blood pounding in his ears and hands balling into fists at his side. He turns his head, seeking out the bastard among the hordes of people, but Sidney Glass is already getting up in his face, voice recorder in hand.

Of fucking bloody course it would be Sidney Glass from _The Mirror_ to instigate trouble. The tabloid writer took immense pleasure reporting on Killian’s scandalous and unscrupulous behavior.

To make matters worse, the owner of _The Mirror_ , Robert Gold, held a personal vendetta against the royal family after his wife, Milah, publicly filed for divorce soon after beginning an affair with Killian.

Killian, rebellious and in mourning, fell hard and fast for Milah. They took to the streets of Denmark by storm, partying and prancing around, rubbing their behavior in the noses of an embarrassed royal family and a chagrined tabloid owner. Glass, instructed to gather dirt on Milah to make the divorce favor Gold, was point on reporting on the couple. However, it didn’t matter in the end. Killian was yanked from the public eye and shipped off to the states, leaving Milah to fight her husband and his pack of lawyers on her own.

Killian’s only comfort came a few months after he was settled in Storybrooke. An email from Milah informing she had left Gold and Denmark behind, but to where she wouldn’t disclose, only that she was happy and free. She wished him the best and hoped he too would find happiness again. He returned the sentiment and that was the last of it. Although he wished to abandon his duties and seek her out, longing for the promise of freedom, he resisted. Instead, he decided to stay and find his way back to the man he used to be, the man he was before Liam’s passing.    

Another flash of light assaults Killian’s senses and he’s torn from his memories back to the present and the infuriating presence of Glass.

“Prince Killian, what do you think of the king’s decision to pass the crown? Surely he wishes it could have been passed to Prince Liam instead?” Glass inquires with an insulting smirk and tilt of his brow, voice recorder shoved under Killian’s nose.

Killian’s eyes darken into a death glare and any remaining self-control is lost as he forcefully shoves Glass away from him, effectively knocking the voice recorder to the ground. Before he can form a fist and do more damage, he’s being pushed aside by Robin who roughly manhandles him into the backseat of the Land Rover that somehow has magically appeared. The shove isn’t gentle, and Killian gashes his leg on the side of the car door before Robin tumbles inside after him.

“Buggering hell that was a close one. What took so long, mate?” Robin asks the driver as the vehicle pulls out onto the street.

Killian doesn’t hear the driver’s response and honestly doesn’t care. Not the driver’s fault they were accosted and Killian became forceful. That’s all on him.

As the drive back to Amelienborg continues, Robin and the driver discuss the inevitable fallout no doubt awaiting them at the palace, but Killian tunes out of the conversation and lets his thoughts drift.

Not for the first time, he fantasizes about telling Emma the truth about himself. He imagines her taking the news well and jet setting off with Henry to be with him in Denmark. The thought is a happy one, until he imagines the more likely scenario of Emma running away and hating him for betraying her so thoroughly. After all, how could she possible accept a life of royal responsibility and run-ins with paparazzi after his deception? He knows Emma well enough to know the walls around her heart will fortify even stronger than before because of his deceit. For that, he prays for every kind of horror to befall him.

-/-

(January)

The weeks continue and before Killian realizes it, the winter sojourn ends and he is on a plane bound for the states - bound for the inevitable heartbreak that awaits in telling Emma the truth once and for all.

When he lands his phone chimes with an incoming text message.

_You officially arrive stateside today so the no texting ban is lifted! (Thank God!) Happy belated Christmas and New Years! Here’s a pic of the tree decorated as promised! I did most of the work, no matter what Henry will tell you. Hope you had a good flight, can’t wait to see you! - ES_

The swirls of emotion the simple message and picture evoke in him are bittersweet. Pushing down on the feelings of trepidation and sadness simmering within, Killian punches a few buttons on the phone, zooms in on the picture of Emma and Henry, and sets the picture as his lock screen’s wallpaper. Smiling at the beautiful face of Emma and Henry’s mischievous grin, Killian prays for a little more time with them.

_Happy to be home love. Can’t wait to see you and Henry as well. - KJ_

Killian places his phone back in his jacket pocket and sets off with Robin to collect their luggage.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, but as promised, the big reveal is finally here! I’m super nervous about this chapter, and if I can keep looking at it I’ll ruin it. As always, thank you so much for reading, reviewing, and liking this story. I don’t know when the next update will be, but I’m working on it!

(January)

Emma’s alarm clock beeps but for once she doesn’t hit the snooze button. Restless all night, she rolls over bright eyed and silences the alarm on the first ring. Lying back in bed, she takes a moment to collect herself. 

After spending weeks suppressing her own feelings, it was difficult finally admitting them to herself, and despite having shared her feelings about Killian with the girls, she spent most of the holiday break ruminating on the decision to tell him. To do so would require an incredible display of vulnerability and trust, something she isn’t certain she is ready for.

The last time she chose to open up and trust someone with her heart she was thoroughly and utterly burned. Although it’s been years and although she’s long passed moved on, the memory still festers, kindling in silent warning she could be burned again.

But the simple thought of Killian, of his kindred spirit and comforting presence, his silly humor and infectious laugh, his scruffy beard and piercing eyes, is enough to quicken her heart in anticipation. She’d fallen for her friend long before the holiday break, but after weeks apart, she is eager to take a chance and open herself up to the possibility of love.

She doesn’t know if Killian reciprocates her feelings - (not having allowed herself to indulge the thought despite her friends’ reassurance) – and though she’s certainly not going to admit to loving him, today is the first day back and she’s anxious to see him, to take that next step with him.  

Throwing off the bed sheets, she begins her morning routine on hyper speed, rushing Henry along and stopping only to read and respond to Killian’s text.

_How does a latte sound this morning, love? KJ_

Emma reads the message with gleaming eyes and a schoolgirl smile, Killian’s signature use of the word _love_ quickening her already pounding heart. She’s ready to take a chance, anxious butterflies be damned.

_Sounds perfect. ES_

-/-

As intended, Killian arrives early to the alcove, ready to share his long overdue secret with Emma. Having not slept the previous night, his stomach is in knots and pulse is pounding in his ears. Regardless of all the ways he’s fantasized about this moment, no matter the outcome, it will be for Emma to decide what becomes of them.

Placing the two cups of coffee on the table, he begins anxiously pacing about the small room. His thoughts are on loop, repeating the words he’s rehearsed several times since the flight over from Denmark.

He can’t remember the last time he’s felt so nervous, quickly brushing his sweaty palms across his jeans to dry them off. His gut is twisting mercilessly and his head is starting to ache from all the pent up anxiety. Bowing his head and clasping his hands together, he reminds himself to breath while continuing to pace about the room.

“Killian!”

Stopping in his tracks, he looks up in time to see Emma barreling into the alcove. A wide smile graces her face as she runs toward him, drops her book bag without a care, and throws her arms around him in a fierce embrace.

Overjoyed at being reunited, Killian picks her up and twirls her around as they cling to one another, his anxiety momentarily dispelled in exhilaration.  

“Swan! Gods I’ve missed you.” He sets her back down but doesn’t untangle his arms from around her waist as they beam at each other.

Her arms similarly locked around his neck, not wanting to let go, Emma searches his eyes and before over thinking it, crushes her lips to his. (So much for well-intended and methodical plans.)

Killian stumbles backward in surprise, Emma following suit, but he’s able to maintain his grip around her waist as he rights them back to an upright position, lips thoroughly fused together. It’s the sensation of her warm and pliant lips that finally alerts his brain to the fact he is not dreaming, but actually kissing Emma.

Gripping the nape of his neck, Emma holds on tighter with each back and forth of Killian’s lips against her own. Heat spreads throughout her being, her stomach doing a summersault in approval at the feel of his body pressed against her.

Drowning in the contact, Killian tentatively parts his lips, a silent request for her to further let him in should she choose. He’s met with the sensation of her tongue lightly pressing against his own, allowing him access as she does her own exploration. A wave of pleasure courses through him, but instead of continuing he abruptly pulls his head away, halting the contact.

“Love?” He asks, pausing in their embrace. He’s beyond ecstatic but perfectly confused; all his fantasies in the world couldn’t have prepared him for this. Kissing Emma was the furthest possibility from his mind when he awoke this morning, and though he certainly wants to continue, he doesn’t want to misread her.

Unhesitating, Emma smiles confidently in return, her gaze locked with his, “I’m taking a chance that I’m not wrong about you.”

Killian only has a second to catch his breath before Emma dives back in for another kiss. Her lips are eager and Killian waists no time, parting her lips and exploring her mouth with his tongue, hands running up her back.

Emma lets out a soft moan as she pulls closer to him, fingers lost in the hair at the nape of his neck. Killian gently squeezes her waist in return, lifting her in the air. Her legs automatically wrap around his waist before he spins and sets her down atop the table, stepping to stand between her spread legs. She clutches the back of his head like a lifeline, her lips pulling and tugging in sync with his own as he cards his fingers through her blonde tresses.

Killian’s mind is telling him to stop, slow down, not having yet shared his secret, but his body and heart are telling him to let it be for the moment.

Another soft moan escapes Emma’s throat and Killian finally pulls back to give them some much needed air. Keeping his forehead pressed against hers, he basks in her sigh of contentment, attempting to gather his courage. It’s now or never; long past time Emma learn the truth about his identity. Stepping back from their embrace, he takes hold of her hands and clears his throat.

Emma gazes at him curiously, eyes still hopeful despite Killian’s palpable shift in demeanor.

A small frown pulls at his lips, eyes laced with worry as he reaches over to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Swallowing his fear, Killian cups the side of her face, and lightly brushes her cheek with his thumb. “Love, I - this is everything I want, but I have to tell you something first. I - ”        

Smiling encouragingly at him, Emma nods her head, “Yeah?”

“Love, I - ”

A brilliant flash of light and the sound of a shutter startle them both. Dazed, Killian turns his head in time for another flash of light to blind him followed by a string of questions.  

“Prince Killian another smooch!”

“Prince Killian who’s the blonde?”

“Is this your latest squeeze, your Highness?”

Without sparing a thought, and with a speed developed by years of practice, Killian tightens his hold of Emma’s hand, grabs their book bags, and pushes his way past the two photographers, including Sidney Fucking Glass. Adrenaline spiked, he races out of the alcove pulling Emma along as Robin comes barreling in and tackles one of the paparazzi.

Continuing to pull Emma along, Killian sprints across the main library and out towards the western student parking lot, glancing over his shoulder and past Emma to ensure they’re not being followed.

Bloody buggering fuck, how did they find him?

“Killian! Killian what was that? Who were those guys with the cameras?”

Uncharacteristically, he ignores Emma’s questions and her attempts to escape his grip, thinking only of the need to run until they are clear from the campus buildings. They continue running until they reach the hilltop of a grassy knoll behind the student parking lot. Now that the paparazzi have found him, the notion of privacy is a joke, but for the moment the cropping of trees allows for some seclusion.

Still holding Emma’s hand but attempting to catch his breath, Killian finally turns to explain when she forcefully yanks free of his grip.

“What the hell was that?”

“Emma, I’m so sorry –”

“What the hell was that?” She repeats, eyes seething with anger and confusion.

“I didn’t intend for you to find out this way. This was all a mistake! It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.” Killian swipes a hand over his face in frustration, meeting her squarely, not wanting to back down from this royal fuck up that is entirely his fault.

“What wasn’t supposed to happen? And who were those guys and why were they calling you ‘Prince Killian’?” Emma’s voice is sharp as she moves toward him, face colored in distrust, demanding an explanation.

Killian’s jaw ticks in discomfort, and he briefly drops her gaze before exhaling sharply and continuing, “Because that’s my name, or more accurately, my _title_.” He can’t help his bitter tone at the word ‘title’, but resigning himself, he straightens and meets her gaze once more. “My name is Prince Killian Bartholomew Frederick Christian Jones I. My father is the reigning king of Denmark, not a corporate CEO as I have led you to believe. As prince, I am to follow in his footsteps as next in succession to the thrown.”

Emma’s eyes widen in surprise, her cheeks darkening a brilliant crimson shade in mortification to rival the leather jacket she’s wearing. A _prince_? All this time he’s been lying about who he is - a fucking _prince_? Her breath hitches as feelings of betrayal and panic begin to take root as her thoughts begin to spiral. A prince she stupidly and naively believed to be her friend, believed she’d fallen in love with? A prince she willingly introduced and allowed to befriend Henry?

Shaking her head in bewilderment, but unable to stave off the assaulting thoughts, feelings of consternation and embarrassment turn to incense. Her pulse continues to pump in adrenaline, and she welcomes the old familiar sensation permeating her body – the instinctual need to run. So much for taking a leap of faith and allowing herself to take a chance.

Emma’s gaze sharpens and betrayal laces her features as she moves away from him, arms raised defensively, her head silently shaking in a vehement, ‘no’.    

Killian’s heart quickens in alarm as he recognizes Emma’s fearful eyes signaling she’s going to run. Stepping forward, his own arms raised in a placating gesture, he pleads, “Emma, please don’t run away from me. I’m so sorry to have deceived you. I know I should have told you the truth from the moment we met, but I was a coward. There were so many times I wanted to tell you but I didn’t.”

Voice hitching in self-loathing, he continues, “You allowed me the great privilege of being your friend and I couldn’t bring myself to reveal my title because I didn’t want to lose you. I didn’t want to risk our friendship. Please know the last thing I ever wanted to do was hurt you Emma, that was never my intention. I was too scared of losing you and Henry, of losing what he have. Love, Emma, I am so, so sorry.”

Killian steps forward but she reciprocates with another step back. Not wanting to further upset her, he stands in place and gives her time to digest his confession.

Standing with one foot behind her ready for flight, her face pensive, Emma attempts to absorb his words.

“What was this morning about? Were you ever going to tell me the truth about yourself?” She doesn’t know why she asks; her internal lie detector clearly hasn’t been working if for months she missed the giant whopper of him being a prince.

Killian nods solemnly, his eyes laced with contrition. “I’ve debated with myself for months about imparting my secret, but it became clear over the holiday break I could no longer be deceitful. This morning I had every intention of telling you the truth, but then you were kissing me and I was selfish and couldn’t pull myself away from you. Then I did, but the bloody infuriating paparazzi arrived and now here we are.”

Emma’s breath hitches, her mind scrambling to make sense of each new confession. Brow arching in trepidation she asks, “Those pictures, are they going to be in the paper?”  

Exhaling, he nods guiltily once more but keeps her focus, not wanting to cower from his shame. “Yes. Before Storybrooke, after Liam passed, my life was one indiscretion after another. My behavior was unruly, I was derelict in my responsibilities, and I was dating the wife of a successful tabloid owner. It was all cannon fodder for the gossip rags. Thus the reason my father shipped me off to finish my studies here - as a means to avoid further public embarrassment for the royal family.”

Emma swipes a hand over her face, brushes away a fallen tear she hadn’t noticed formed and rubs at her temples. _Too much._ This is all _too much_. “Anything else?”

“Robin… he’s not simply my friend, he’s also my personal bodyguard and occasional advisor. It’s why he follows me to classes and why he kept post at the library.”

Emma snorts at this admission but Killian ignores the well-deserved slight and continues, “Swan, I am so sorry for my deception. I swear everything else I’ve shared about myself is true.”

Indignation flares and she involuntarily steps forward in objection. “Why should I believe you? I trusted you and you lied to me!”

“Yes I lied to you! I lied to you and I’ll never forgive myself for doing so, for hurting you! But Emma please, you have to know what I feel for you _isn’t_ a lie.”

“What you _feel_ for me?” She asks incredulously, shaking her head in admonishment.

Killian grits his teeth and walks toward her determinedly, closing the remaining gap between them, effectively rooting her in place. Her emerald eyes are moist with tears, and his heart lurches at being the cause of her pain. Tentatively, gaze pleading, he gently caresses her cheek with his knuckles, wipes away a fallen tear and whispers, “Emma please, you have to know, I love you.”

“You _love_ me?” She breathlessly whispers, not in question but in accusation.

“Yes, I do.” He’s resolute, unwavering in his affections now he’s admitted the truth. It may be poor timing, but he can’t let her go without knowing everything, including his love for her. “Emma, I am very much in love with you.”

The old familiar sensation to run roars to life again at his declaration and this time Emma chooses to listen to it. Taking a small step back, she shakes her head as a sharp “No” escapes her tongue.

“Emma – ”

“No!”

Killian moves to step forward but Emma raises her arms and forcefully shoves him backward, causing him to stumble. Turning abruptly on her heel, she breaks into a sprint.

As Emma races across the parking lot she hears him shout, “Swan!” but doesn’t stop or turn around. She continues running, pushing her legs faster and willing her lungs to breath evenly as she dashes from the western side of campus to the eastern side, dodging academic pedestrians and campus shuttle vans without slowing down. Once in the Bug, she jams the key in the ignition and puts the car in gear, not bothering to let it warm up.

Emma’s chest aches as her heart beats frantically, her lungs burn and constrict, and she knows it’s due to Killian’s confessions and not the Olympic feat of sprinting eight hundred yards – (twice) - within twenty minutes.

This morning her walls were down and heart unguarded because she trusted Killian. Now, driving away from him with tears clouding her vision, she’s cursing herself for being so foolish.

Lost girls don’t get honesty and love; they don’t get happy endings, and they certainly don’t get princes.

-/-

Killian’s world shatters around him as Emma takes off like a bat out of hell. He deserves to be left alone after deceiving her so thoroughly, yet he continues to call out and chase her across the parking lot.

He’s gaining pace when he sees her blonde hair and red leather cut across a walkway toward one of the outer campus buildings. He could easily dart in the other direction and meet her from ahead but instead, decides to stop as realization strikes - she’s running because of him.

Breathe leaving him, Killian collapses to his knees. Emma’s gone and it’s entirely his fault. One moment she was in his arms, kissing him senseless, and the next she was running away, petrified of him. Swiping a hand over his face in exasperation, he’s pulled from his sulking thoughts at the sound of his cell phone.

“Aye, mate, I know. I’ll meet you at the car.” He swiftly disconnects the call before Robin can utter a word.

He stands and wipes the gravel from his hands before proceeding to trudge his way across campus, making sure to avoid the direction Emma had taken.

There will undoubtedly be retribution to pay for the scandal about to unfold back home - (those opprobrious photos being the first in years) - but right now, he doesn’t give a damn. His only concern is Emma, and right now she wants nothing to do with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I may have borrowed from the movie, but I liked that scene and always imagined Killian’s secret being revealed this way, so I hope it was an enjoyable read. Also, first time ever writing a kissing scene… feedback?


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter took longer than I expected to post. I went through several drafts and a bout of writers block before finally being comfortable with the end result. Even though the series has officially ended, this story is outlined and I do intend to complete it. Thank you all for reading, reviewing, and liking my story. It’s such an encouragement and I’m so glad it can bring you joy. Please let me know what you think and as usual, please excuse any grammar or spelling errors.

(February)

Two weeks have passed since the incident with Killian. Two weeks since Emma’s been functioning on autopilot. She takes care of Henry, attends classes, goes to work, attempts sleep, and repeats.

She dutifully avoids the library, choosing to study in the hallways outside her classes. It’s not ideal, but she prefers the obnoxious noise of boisterous undergrads as opposed to risking a run-in with Killian. Her cell phone is relegated to a clock as she ignores every phone call and text, save for messages regarding work. Killian doesn’t attempt to make contact and she’s glad for it, ignoring the voice in her head saying it’s because he knows her well enough to respect her boundaries and not push.

Her feelings continue to vacillate from anger, embarrassment, frustration, to loneliness. The days are easier to ignore the latter emotion, but at night, she tosses and turns in bed, missing her friend. She misses their conversations, their playful banter and affectionate touches but most of all, she misses how he tore down her walls and burrowed his way into her heart.

She finds herself distracted while in class or on the job, sorting through her conflicted thoughts. Her rationale brain can understand why Killian held back his secret - (as fantastical as it is) - but her emotional brain roars with indignation at not knowing for so long. She mulls over his declaration of being in love with her, scoffing at the ridiculous notion one minute and burning with hope the next. After all, it’s because she is in love with Killian that his betrayal spooked her into running away.

Emma persists in her autopilot routine for another week until her friends apparently have enough of the radio silence and send in the biggest gun in their arsenal - May Margaret.

The petite brunette is at Emma’s door one Friday evening, a small package wrapped in brown paper and twine at her side. She waists no time in barreling past Emma’s front door once opened, not bothering to wait for a greeting.  

Emma rolls her eyes to the heavens before closing the door and following her determined friend to the kitchen. Mary Margaret gets to work assembling the fixings for hot cocoa while Emma takes a seat at the island bar, drumming her fingers on the countertop in anticipation for the inquisition about to occur. She eyes the package Mary Margaret brought, brow lifted in curiosity, but refrains from asking about it.

A few minutes pass in silence until Mary Margaret plops a mug of the good stuff in front of Emma. Leaning back against the counter and taking a small sip from her own mug, Mary Margaret’s brow arches in wait before beginning, “So, want to tell me what’s been bothering you?”

Emma takes a sip before answering, careful to avoid Mary Margaret’s penetrating gaze.

“No, not really.”  

“Does it have anything to do with Killian?”

Emma traces the rim of her mug in silence, contemplating how she can escape this unsolicited interrogation. “Where’s little Leo? Finally find a steady babysitter?”

“He’s with David and no we haven’t. Now quit stalling and answer my question.” Mary Margaret looks at her pointedly and Emma exhales in annoyance. Clearly there is no getting out of this impromptu chat.

“Yes.” Emma deadpans in response. If she’s going to have this conversation, she’s going to make her surrogate mother of a friend pull some teeth.

Mary Margaret’s gaze softens as she sets her mug down and spreads her fingers atop the island counter, leveling her gaze at Emma. “What happened?”  

Shrugging her shoulders and taking a sip of cocoa, Emma answers plainly, “He wasn’t who he said he was and as usual I got my heart broken.”

Mary Margaret tilts her head curiously, a silent prompt for Emma to continue.

Rolling her eyes and letting out a frustrated breath, Emma obliges her friend. “Killian isn’t just Killian. He’s the prince of Denmark.”

Mary Margaret erupts in a coughing fit, hot cocoa travelling from her throat to nose. Accepting a napkin from Emma, she gracefully uses it to clean her face. “I’m sorry, he’s a _what_ now?”

Emma nods, smirking sardonically before clicking her tongue and repeating, “Killian’s the prince of Denmark.”

Mary Margaret stares, mouth agape, eyes wide and brow lifted in disbelief.

“Yep,” Emma says emphatically, popping the ‘p’ for effect. “Killian is the prince of Denmark, as in _Denmark_ , Denmark. As in prince-who-is-next-in-line-for-the-throne kind of prince.”

Mary Margaret continues to blankly stare, flabbergasted.

Emma, giving her friend a moment to compose herself, sighs in exasperation before taking another sip of cocoa. “As you can surmise, I didn’t take it well. I ran and haven’t heard from him since.”

“H-how? I mean, how?” Mary Margaret blinks rapidly, her face contorted in stupefaction.  

Ignoring the question, Emma unloads her thoughts. “The worst part is, I don’t know if I’m more upset Killian lied about being a prince or about him telling me he loves me.”

“He told you he loves you! Emma he’s in love with you! Did you say it back? Oh my gosh, how did he tell you?” Mary Margaret beams, bouncing on the balls of her feet in excitement.

“Kind of missing the whole point here Mary Margs.”

“Right, sorry.” Mary Margaret settles from bouncing on the balls of her feet, turning to rummage through Emma’s kitchen cabinets.

“What are you doing?” Emma asks, bewildered at her friend’s sudden onset of ADHD.

“Looking for – ah ha!” Mary Margaret turns and sets a bottle of bourbon on the counter. “This conversation clearly requires the assistance of alcohol.”

A small laugh at her friend’s antics escapes Emma as she nods in agreement.

Mary Margaret pours them each a tumbler and they silently toast before taking a modest, tentative sip. Emma delights in the liquid warmth as it spreads throughout, melting away her bitterness and coaxing her into unloading on her friend’s offered ear.

Two refills later, the story exhausted and the women long since relegated to the couch, Mary Margaret asks the obvious, “So, what are you going to do?”

“What is there to do? Killian’s royalty, I’m most decidedly not. In case you forgot Mary Margaret, I’m an orphan, I have a criminal record, I’m a single-mom, in what world would we ever work out?” Emma replies, vexed at the idea.

“Ah, so you admit to wishing it could work - you and him.” Mary Margaret offers.

Emma attempts to respond but when unable to successfully formulate words, Mary Margaret presses on. “Emma, before knowing Killian is a prince, you admitted to being in love with him and clearly, as he expressed, he’s in love with you too. Prince or not, orphan or not, you owe it to each other to forgive him and give yourselves a chance.”

“And why should I do that? Even if I did, how would that be possible?” Emma asks gruffly, pounding the pillow in her lap rather excessively than what is generally adequate to fluff a pillow.

“Because you owe it to yourself to be happy, Emma.”

“Okay stop, my happiness is not defined by a man.” Emma retorts, hand raised defensively, baffled at her friend’s insinuation.

Mary Margaret huffs, exasperated at her friend’s petulance, “Of course not, but love is a part of all happiness, and you have to be open to that. Besides, even believing in the possibility of a happy ending can be a very powerful thing.”

Emma sits silently from her cross-legged perch on the couch, face downcast in thought. After a moment, she hears a ruffling and looks up to see Mary Margaret holding the brown paper package in front of her. Her brow rises curiously but she doesn’t accept the package right away.

“I found this sitting by your door when I arrived. Ten guesses who it’s from.”

Nodding in acquiescence, Emma quietly takes the package from Mary Margaret’s hands.

“I’ll leave you to it then.” Mary Margaret shrugs into her coat and continues, “Just know Emma, whatever you decide, you have our support and no matter what we will always love you.”

Emma smiles and stands to embrace her, “Thanks Mary Margaret.”

Once at the door, Mary Margaret gives her a final hug. “I’ll ward off David long enough to give you some more time, but please don’t stay away much longer?”

“I promise, I won’t. Give him my love and um, maybe keep him in check? I don’t need him playing knight in shinning armor and punching Killian in the face.”

“I make no promises.” Mary Margaret winks and Emma chuckles before shutting the door and turning back toward the living room.

The package is undoubtedly from Killian, yet she hesitantly approaches as if it’s a rigged explosive.

Squaring her shoulders, she debates having one more glass of bourbon for some liquid courage but decides against it. If she can face her feelings, she can certainly face whatever is in the package.

Carefully untying the twine, she unfolds the brown paper, breath hitching at the sight.

The book is a well-worn leather hardback, thick, with the title emblazoned in intricate calligraphy – _Peter and Wendy_. As she reverently caresses the tome, her senses are engulfed with the vintage smell of leather and feel of centuries old paper. Upon opening the cover, she first notices the delicately folded letter with her name penned in cursive before her heart freezes at the inscription written on the inside of the cover.

_My Dearest Little Brother,_

Emma gently slams the book cover closed, taking a moment to catch her breath. He couldn’t have, could he?

Collecting herself, she hesitantly opens the book once more.

 

_My Dearest Little Brother,_

_This past month has been nothing short of purgatory, if not hell. I do realize these are not the most proper words to use, given the circumstances, but you know as well as I that mother is now in heaven, free from anymore suffering. She loved you with her whole soul Killian, as do I. Keep this treasure with you, as a reminder of all the nights mother would stay up reading to us, long past our bedtime, always willing to read another chapter at our supplications. We may have to grow up now, Little Brother, but unlike the Darling children, we will hold on to the memories and never forget our adventures. For our mother is still with us, watching from heaven’s nursery window._

_All My Love,_

_Your Big Brother, Liam_

 

Emma’s body begins to tremble, tears threatening to fall as she re-reads the inscription. How could Killian part with something so personal? Attempting to ease her warring emotions at the thought, she quickly scans the book for the copyright information but the damn breaks as she registers the date – _1911_ \- a first edition. Something resembling a hiccup and sob escapes her throat as she futilely attempts to brush away free falling tears. 

Picking up the letter inscribed with her name, she unfolds it with quivering hands, her heart full but poised.

 

Min Kære Svane, _(My Dearest Swan)_

_There are not enough words to describe how utterly penitent I am for breaking your trust and hurting your heart with my deception. I do not deserve your forgiveness, however much I wish it. I do not deserve to be in your life, however much I desire it. There are no excuses to justify my behavior. I was a coward of a man, never mind a prince. I ignored the wisdom instilled in me at a young age by my brother Liam, and that is simply - a man unwilling to fight for what he wants, deserves what he gets._

_I did not fight for you Emma, I did not fight for us in the way I should have – with absolute honesty from the beginning. Now because of my cowardice, I have once again lost the most important people in my life – you and Henry._

_Please know Emma, my declaration of loving you was not a desperate plea in the heat of the moment. I am profoundly, resolutely, timelessly in love with you Emma Swan. I have longed to tell you for some time, but I could never balance expressing my feelings and telling you the truth of who I am for fear of losing you. But now I have lost you and I shall never forgive myself._

_By the time you read this, I will be on the way to Copenhagen. My father has dictated my return, much to my displeasure, and he has decreed coronation is to be in May. Thus, I am to forgo my studies in preparation and assume the responsibilities of my birthright._

_I regret many things Emma, but not you, never you. I love you Emma, I want only your heart’s desire, whatever it may be. Please take care my love. I hope only the best for you and young Henry. Perhaps when enough times passes, you will share this book with Henry as my mother shared with me (and hopefully the lad will see my perspective of Captain Hook)._

  
_Al min kærlighed,_

_(All my love)_

_Killian_

 

Emma places the letter on the coffee table and leans back in her seat on the couch. After wiping away more freshly fallen tears, she closes her eyes and allows herself to reflect on everything. 

Slowly, uncharacteristically, it dawns on her with startling clarity - she believes him, she trusts him. Killian may be a prince, but he’s the friend she fell in love with, the friend who loves her in return.

Another hiccup escapes her, but she smiles and welcomes it as she laughs aloud. She has choices and she can choose to be alone, tirelessly missing Killian, or she can choose to forgive, to be vulnerable, to have hope and give into this improbable fairytale.

Emma stands abruptly from where she sits on the couch in search of her cell phone. She dials the number decidedly, smiling in anticipation.

“Hey, about earlier. I need a favor…”

-/-

The following evening, Emma is sitting with her friends around Mary Margaret and David’s kitchen table.

Ruby is pouring herself another round of wine while August, sitting across from the red headed beauty, takes a sip of his whisky. Henry sits next to Elsa, happily dunking a double stuffed Oreo into milk. Mary Margaret is seated at the head of the table, David to her right, his arms crossed in defiance.

“I still don’t see why Emma should do this. The guy lied to her.” David expresses, rolling his eyes in frustration.

“Technically you can argue he didn’t lie. Is a lie of omission really a lie?” August asks, firing up his laptop.

“Yes, a ‘lie of omission’ is still a lie, hence the wording.” Mary Margaret explains, annoyed at the bull headed author’s quip. “But Emma has decided to forgive him and we are supporting her in that decision.”

Emma, grateful for the support but overwhelmed at the offered plan, attempts to speak but is cut off by Ruby’s exuberant delight.

“Come on! Killian is a prince! How can we let Emma pass that up? Think of all the free trips to Denmark we will inherit thanks to Emma dating the prince!”

“Alright now wait, that’s not why I’m doing this.” Emma says emphatically, anxiety beginning to stir in her gut.

Last night she tossed and turned with worry about how Killian will receive her. In her heart she believes Killian will accept she’s there because of him and not because of his princely status. Logically however, she doesn’t know how others, particularly his family, will receive her. If her friends already think her desire to be with Killian is because she’s a gold-digger – (or whatever the term is for royalty) - then what will his family think?

“Ruby you can’t be serious! You know Emma better than that, apologize to her right now.” Elsa the queen of grace admonishes, momentarily dispelling Emma’s worries.

“I was only kidding! I’m sorry Emma I didn’t mean it like that. I’m super stoked for you following your heart. I just can’t get over the fact Killian is an honest to God modern prince! It’ll be like Kate and William or oh, Meghan and Harry!” Ruby says, not the least bit sheepish.

Elsa shakes her head and stares at Ruby, her signature ‘are you kidding me right now’ face in full effect.

Anxieties assuaged for the present being, Emma smiles softly at the antics of her friends, thankful for their support.

“Prince or not, he still deserves justice for deceiving you. My fist is itching to meet his face.” David gruffly addresses Emma from his seat.

“David…” Mary Margaret’s tone is sharp as she stares daggers at her husband.

“But this is what you want so we are supportive.” David quickly amends with a wave of his hand.  

Ignoring her husband and an amused snort from August, Mary Margaret assumes command of the group. “Enough. It’s already been decided upon and we’ve all agreed to the plan. Now, assignments!”

Aside from Henry who happily munches on Oreos, the group unitedly cringes as the petite general begins issuing orders.

“Ruby and August, search the web for the most affordable hotel nearest the winter palace, I believe it’s called Amalienborg. Emma will undoubtedly be staying with Killian after making her presence known, but we don’t want to be presumptuous.”

Emma swiftly turns her head to rebuttal but Mary Margaret, not bothering to spare a glance, silences her with a raised hand.

“Elsa, take Emma and Henry back to their apartment and help her pack. Before you do, rummage through my closet for my wool coat. I don’t know what the weather is like in Denmark, but I’m sure no amount of leather will keep her sufficiently warm in February.”

“David, gather everyone’s credit cards and begin comparing rates for flights. Once you find a good deal, call the airline and book the next open-ended flight. Emma deserves to take her time and not rush back home. I’m sure Killian will insist on paying for all of Emma’s major expenses but again we don’t want to presume, it’s not polite.”

The group sits, silently awaiting further instructions from the pixie cut drill sergeant.

Irritated with the bunch, Mary Margaret rolls her eyes and claps her hands together, “That’s it! Go!”

All at once, everyone begins moving. Mary Margaret heads upstairs to check on Leo, David gathers everyone’s offered credit cards, Elsa rummages through the bedroom closet, and Ruby and August trade off websites to search.

“Are you all sure about this?” Emma asks for the hundredth time, shrugging into her leather jacket as Elsa returns from the bedroom with an ankle length black pea coat.

“Yes mom! We have to get you to Killian!” Henry beams, jacket and beanie already secured.

“Emma, you’re taking a leap and choosing to have hope and we couldn’t be more excited. We’re family Emma and family helps each other out.” Elsa adds affectionately, buttoning up her own jacket.

“Forget about the damn money already!” August hollers in agreement from his position at the table, an oversized brownie hanging precariously from his mouth.

Emma nods in reassurance but quickly turns her attention to Henry. Although they talked this morning and though Henry expressed his approval of the plan, Emma’s still uncertain. “Are you sure about this kid? If you don’t want me to go, say the word. Your happiness is more important than mine.”

Without hesitation Henry answers plainly, “Duh, it’s Killian! He’s our friend mom and he wants to be in our life. You were happy with him and I know he was happy with you.”

“Oh you do, do you?”

“I know because he told me so.” Henry proclaims, grinning smugly.

Emma lets out a small laugh but despite Henry’s resoluteness, she remains uncertain if he truly understands the potential consequences of her endeavor. Leaning down to meet him at eye level, she places a comforting hand upon his shoulder, “Henry, you need to understand it may not work out. There is a chance Killian won’t come back into our lives, but if by some miracle he does, our lives will be different. I’m not quite sure how different but in any case, I don’t want to get your hopes up anymore than I already have.”

With more maturity than his age merits, Henry nods silently before wrapping his arms around Emma’s waist in a fierce embrace. “Whatever happens, you’ll still be my mom, that’s all I need.”

Fervently, Emma returns Henry’s embrace. As she strokes the back of his head, she silently reins in tears of wonderment for how amazing her brave little man is.

“I love you Henry, more than anything. Nothing and no one will ever change that. You know that, right?”

She feels his nod against her stomach before he pulls back, a wide smile on his face. “I know mom, I love you too.”

“Are you sure you will be okay staying with Mary Margaret and David while I’m away?”

“Are you kidding? It’ll be a blast! David said we could build a tent in the living room and watch the whole Star Wars trilogy, from the beginning!”

Laughing at Henry’s merriment her uncertainties calm. She takes his hand in hers, a determined grin coloring her face, “Okay let’s do this. Lead the way, kid.”

-/-

Emma tightens her grip on the armrests of the seat, expelling another nervous breath as the song on her playlist changes. The flight from Boston to Copenhagen is ungodly long but she’s too nervous to sleep. Bouncing her legs in place, she once again reviews the plan in her head.

Land, grab the luggage, get through customs, catch a taxi, check into the hotel, freshen up, head toward the palace, find Killian, apologize, and hope for the best.

Simple.

Easy.

Not at all crazy, stupid, and totally out of her character. How did she let her friends talk her into this? Why was this her idea in the first place?

Snow Patrol’s _Open Your Eyes_ taunts her through the headphones as she ruminates on the different outcomes of reuniting with Killian. What if she can’t find him? What if she does but he wants nothing to do with her, too angry for her running away from him?

Emma pinches the bridge of her nose, closes her eyes, and takes another deep calming breath. No point playing the _What If_ game. Her friends graciously helped pay for this trip, Mary Margaret and David are babysitting Henry, her professors have been notified of her absence due to a ‘family emergency,’ all she can do is focus on finding Killian, one step at a time.

The seatbelt light illuminates as the pilot’s voice sounds from the intercom, announcing the plane’s descent first in Danish than in English. Emma complies, snapping her seatbelt and exhaling another breath in a futile attempt to quiet the butterflies roaring in her stomach.  

Making her way through the throng of travelers, she impatiently waits in the customs line for her passport to be authenticated and heads toward the direction of baggage claim. As she traverses the busy terminal, she passes by Denmark’s version of Hudson News before doubling back, a rack of magazines catching her eye.

The language may be indecipherable, but there is no mistaking the photos. There in print, scattered across the racks, Emma stares at pictures upon pictures of her and Killian.

Stupefied, she picks up the first magazine that caught her attention. The cover is of her and Killian smiling at each other as they walk hand in hand against a blurry backdrop she supposes must be the college grounds. The photo was taken from a distance, but there’s no mistaking it’s them, for inset within the larger photo is an up-close picture of Emma in her red leather jacket.

Pulse quickening, she scans the cover in bewilderment trying to make sense of the bolded caption, the words glaring at her but not making any sense.  

_‘_ _Prince Killian og hans amerikanske kæreste? Hvem er mysteriet blondine?’_

Frustrated, Emma forcefully shoves the magazine back on the rack and quickly scans the rest of the periodicals. They appear to be tabloid magazines, pictures of her and Killian together and individually flooding the covers. All of the titled captions are indecipherable to her, the only discernable word being her name. 

_Prince Killian og hans dame elsker Emma Svane. Hvordan de mødtes, og hvor forholdet går._

She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, attempting to count to ten in an effort to quell her fears from taking root. She should have mentally prepared for this, why hadn’t she considered this?

The day they ran from the library Killian warned her photos of them would surface, but clearly that wasn’t the only time they were photographed.

Being a prince makes Killian a public figure, so it makes sense photos of him would be prevalent, but it’s unreal seeing her face plastered across magazines in an international airport. She knew some attention might come her way if she and Killian reconnected, but she never considered it would be on this grand a scale.

As Emma continues to control her anxiety, she reminds herself why she’s here. Her best friend, the man she’s in love with, is a prince. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but she chose this surreal reality when she chose to fight for Killian.

With a fresh wave of resolve, Emma’s breath evens out as she tightens her grip on her backpack. Turning away from the magazine rack she continues toward baggage claim, hopeful anticipation guiding her steps in direct opposition to the anxious butterflies swarming in her stomach.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations per Google:
> 
> Prince Killian og hans amerikanske kæreste? Hvem er mysteriet blondine? 
> 
> Prince Killian and his American girlfriend? Who is the mystery of blonde?
> 
> \--
> 
> Prince Killian og hans dame elsker Emma Svane. Hvordan de mødtes, og hvor forholdet går.
> 
> Prince Killian and his lady love Emma Svane. How they met and where the relationship is going.


End file.
